Classic Poem

Sweet friend, when you and I are gone
—Beyond earth's weary labor,
When small shall be our need of grace
—From comrade or from neighbor,
Then hands that would not lift a stone,
—Where stones were thick to cumber
Our steep hill path, will scatter flowers
—Above our pillowed slumber.

Sweet friend, perchance both thou and I,
—Ere love is past forgiving,
Should take the earnest lesson home—
—Be patient with the living.
Today's repressed rebuke may save
—Our blinding tears tomorrow.
Then patience, e'ndash when keenest edge
—May whet a nameless sorrow.

'Tis easy to be gentle when
—Death's silence shames our clamor,
And easy to discern the best
—Through memory's mystic glamour;
But wise it were for thee and me,
—Ere love is past forgiving,
To take the earnest lesson home—
—Be patient with the living.

Sweet friend, when you and I are gone
—Beyond earth's weary labor,
When small shall be our need of grace
—From comrade or from neighbor,
Then hands that would not lift a stone,
—Where stones were thick to cumber
Our steep hill path, will scatter flowers
—Above our pillowed slumber.

Sweet friend, perchance both thou and I,
—Ere love is past forgiving,
Should take the earnest lesson home—
—Be patient with the living.
Today's repressed rebuke may save
—Our blinding tears tomorrow.
Then patience, e'ndash when keenest edge
—May whet a nameless sorrow.

'Tis easy to be gentle when
—Death's silence shames our clamor,
And easy to discern the best
—Through memory's mystic glamour;
But wise it were for thee and me,
—Ere love is past forgiving,
To take the earnest lesson home—
—Be patient with the living.