Classic Poem

The days and weeks are going, love,
The years roll on apace,
And the hand of time is showing, love,
In the care-lines on thy face;

But the tie that bound our hearts, love,
In the morning's golden haze,
Is a tie that never parts, love,
With the passing of the days.

For though Death's arm be strong, love,
Our love its light will shed,
And like a glorious song, love,
Will live when Death is dead.