Or, Blessings of To-day IF we knew the woe and heart-ache That await us on the road; If our lips could taste the wormwood, If our backs could feel the load; Would we waste to-day in wishing For a time that ne’er may be? Would we wait in such impatience For our ships to come from sea? If we knew the baby fingers Pressed against the window-pane Would be cold and stiff to-morrow,— Never trouble us again; Would the bright eyes of our darling Catch the frown upon our brow? Would the print of baby fingers Vex us then as they do now? Ah! those little ice-cold fingers, How they point our memories back To the hasty words and actions Strewn along the backward track! How those little hands remind us, As in snowy grace they lie, Not to scatter thorns, but roses, For the reaping by and by. Strange, we never prize the music Till the sweet-voiced birds have flown; Strange, that we should slight the violets Till the lovely flowers are gone; Strange, that summer skies and sunshine Never seem one half so fair As when winter’s snowy pinions Shake the white down in the air. Lips from which the seal of silence None but God can roll away Never blossomed in such beauty As adorns the mouth to-day; And sweet words that freight our memory With their beautiful perfume Come to us in sweeter accents Through the portals of the tomb. Let us gather up the sunbeams Lying all around our path; Let us keep the wheat and roses, Casting out the thorns and chaff; Let us find our sweetest comfort In the blessings of to-day, With a patient hand removing All the briers from the way.
“If we knew”
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