Classic Poem

O yes, we mean all kind words that we say,
To old friends and to new;
Yet doth this truth grow clearer day by day,
We love but few.

We love! we love! what easy words to say,
And sweet to hear,
When sunrise splendor brightens all the way,
And far and near

Is breath of flowers, and caroling of birds,
And bells that chime,—
Our hearts are light, we do not weigh our words
At morning time.

But when the matin-music all is hushed,
And life's great load
Doth weigh us down, and thick with dust
Doth grow the road,

Then do we say less often that we love,
The words have grown,
With pleading eyes we look to Christ above,
And clasp our own.

Their lives are bound to ours with mighty bands;
No mortal strait,
Nor Death himself, with his prevailing hands,
Can separate.

The world is wide, and many names are dear,
And friendships true,
Yet do these words read plainer year by year:
We love but few.

O yes, we mean all kind words that we say,
To old friends and to new;
Yet doth this truth grow clearer day by day,
We love but few.

We love! we love! what easy words to say,
And sweet to hear,
When sunrise splendor brightens all the way,
And far and near

Is breath of flowers, and caroling of birds,
And bells that chime,—
Our hearts are light, we do not weigh our words
At morning time.

But when the matin-music all is hushed,
And life's great load
Doth weigh us down, and thick with dust
Doth grow the road,

Then do we say less often that we love,
The words have grown,
With pleading eyes we look to Christ above,
And clasp our own.

Their lives are bound to ours with mighty bands;
No mortal strait,
Nor Death himself, with his prevailing hands,
Can separate.

The world is wide, and many names are dear,
And friendships true,
Yet do these words read plainer year by year:
We love but few.