THE SONG OF LOVE by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL

I PASSED along the meadows fair,
The lark's loud carol filled the air,
A living song up-soaring:
A wanderer passed along, and sang
A song that all the lark's out-rang,
His very soul outpouring:
"Still onward to my quiet home,
With yearning, glad endeavor;
Still singing all the way I roam
A song of love forever."

I passed along the forest green,
And heard a song ring out between
The leafy aisles o'erarching:
The music filled the silent shade,
The singer passed through glen and glade,
With steady footstep marching:
"Still onward to my quiet home,
With yearning, glad endeavor;
Still singing all the way I roam
A song of love forever."

I lingered by the river side,
And watched a tiny vessel glide,
And saw the white waves glisten:
The helm was in the wanderer's hand,
The same clear music reached the strand,
And bid my whole soul listen:
"Still onward to my quiet home,
With yearning, glad endeavor;
Still singing all the way I roam
A song of love forever."

I passed the quiet churchyard bound,
And stood beside a new-made mound,
In silent sunset glory;
The flowering grasses, fresh and fair,
Waved lightly in the summer air,
And softly told the story:
"He resteth in his quiet home,
Whence nothing now can sever;
Still singing, though no more to roam,
His song of love forever."

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