The World had dreamed of the meeting
From the first of the farthest years,
But her hand was cold to his greeting,
And her cheeks were bitter with tears.
Her voice was the wind, repeating
The pain of the heart that hears,
But the World was glad of the meeting
To the last of the lingering years.
For forth from her tears came flowers,
And out of her grief delight;
The buds swelled under the showers,
The blossoms, with sandals white,
Climbed up to their greenwood bowers
From the broken seeds and night.
But who could foretell the flowers,
Or see in the grief delight?
THE GOLDEN WEDDING.
OH, the golden sunshine crept through
the autumn trees and slept
On her shining head bowed meekly coming from the house of God,
And along the woodland road, wending to her
new abode,
Where the April wind had sowed, laughed
the nodding golden-rod.
