Each day, when the glow of sunset
Fades in the western sky,
And the wee ones, tired of playing,
Go tripping lightly by,
I steal away from my husband,
Asleep in his easy-chair,
And watch from the open door-way
Their faces fresh and...
Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
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Never yet was a springtime,
Late though lingered the snow,
That the sap stirred not at the whisper
Of the south wind, sweet and low;
Never yet was a springtime
When the buds forgot to blow.Ever the wings of the summer
Are folded... -
His fourscore years and five
Are gone, like a tale that is told.
The quick tears start, there ’s an ache at the heart,
For we never thought him old.Straight as a mountain pine,
With the mountain eagle’s eye,
With the hand-clasp strong, and...