Past Days
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- '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.
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