Golden Grain Garnered from the World's Great Harvest-field of Knowledge / Comprising Selections from the Ablest Modern Writers of Prose, Poetry, and Legendary Lore

IF WE KNEW.

PHOEBE CARY.

If we knew the woe and heartache Waiting for us down the road, If our lips could taste the wormwood, If our backs could feel the load— Would we waste the day in wishing For a time that ne'er can be; Would we wait in such impatience For our ships to come from sea?
If we knew the baby fingers Pressed against the window pane, Would be cold and stiff to-morrow— Never trouble us again— Would the bright eyes of our darling Catch the frown upon our brow? Would the prints of rosy fingers Vex us then as they do now?
Ah, those little ice-cold fingers, How they point our memories back To the hasty words and actions Strewn along our backward track!

How those little hands remind us, As in snowy grace they lie, Not to scatter thorns, but roses, For our reaping by and by.
Strange we never prize the music Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown! Strange that we should slight the violets Till the lovely flowers are gone! Strange that summer skies and sunshine Never seemed one-half so fair, As when winter's snowy pinions Shake their white down in the air!
Lips from which the seal of silence None but God can roll away, Never blossomed in such beauty As adorns that mouth to-day; And sweet words that freight our memory With their beautiful perfume, Come to us in sweeter accents Through the portals of the tomb.
Let us gather up the sunbeams, Lying all around our path; Let us keep the wheat and roses, Casting out the thorns and chaff; Let us find our sweetest comfort In the blessings of to-day, With a patient hand removing All the briers from our way.

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