Past Days
'Tis
strange
to
think
there
WAS
a
time
When
mirth
was
not
an
empty
name,
When
laughter
really
cheered
the
heart,
And
frequent
smiles
unbidden
came,
And
tears
of
grief
would
only
flow
In
sympathy
for
others'
woe;
When
speech
expressed
the
inward
thought,
And
heart
to
kindred
heart
was
bare,
And
summer
days
were
far
too
short
For
all
the
pleasures
crowded
there;
And
silence,
solitude,
and
rest,
Now
welcome
to
the
weary
breast—
Were
all
unprized,
uncourted
then—
And
all
the
joy
one
spirit
showed,
The
other
deeply
felt
again;
And
friendship
like
a
river
flowed,
Constant
and
strong
its
silent
course,
For
nought
withstood
its
gentle
force:
When
night,
the
holy
time
of
peace,
Was
dreaded
as
the
parting
hour;
When
speech
and
mirth
at
once
must
cease,
And
silence
must
resume
her
power;
Though
ever
free
from
pains
and
woes,
She
only
brought
us
calm
repose.
And
when
the
blessed
dawn
again
Brought
daylight
to
the
blushing
skies,
We
woke,
and
not
RELUCTANT
then,
To
joyless
LABOUR
did
we
rise;
But
full
of
hope,
and
glad
and
gay,
We
welcomed
the
returning
day.
