  O songless, lost, and silent voice, Steal back from pale oblivion’s shore, And breathe the songs so loved of old, That echo down the years no more. O voice, lost voice, that pined and died— A solace with the changing years— I miss thee so, my more than friend, That soothed to rest life’s cares and fears. We were so gay, lost friend and I, When life was young and all a song; And tenderness steals o’er us now, As thoughts of old around us throng. The wild birds joined us with their song; And oh! the days were fair and sweet That to the dreamy past belong. We were so merry when the hills Were mantled o’er with emerald green, And summer winds blew soft and low, And bloomed the lilies by the stream. And how we sang by lane and mead, And wandered through the forest aisles, By brook and rill and lonely tarn, Where nature in profusion smiles. And tasks were lightened by our lay, And dear to us was the old farm— Our own dear home beside the stream, Where hearts were sunny, true and warm. The ev’ning heard us singing still— A solace ’twas for every care— Ah! feet will seldom go astray, If cheered by song and mother’s prayer. We had a lay for every theme, And sang of home, of life, of heaven, Our country and our country’s cause, The sinner, and his sins forgiven. We sang of friendship and of love, Of plighted troth and true hearts slain, Of heroes and their noble war On many a hard-fought battle plain. But time flows on, and bears away Our youthful dreams, and on the tide Of stormy seas we too are borne, Drifting and drifting far and wide. We scarce can trace the lonesome way, Or count our grievous loss or gains As closes down the dreary day. And we have known adversity, Saw love and friendship take their flight; And very weary grew our feet; Alone we looked upon the night. And sad and sadder grew our lay, But still it soothed the heart to rest; Teaching us patience to abide The years in trust and tenderness. But when our voice grew weary, too, Chilled by the winter’s sleet and rain, And stilled in death’s embrace it lay, Our head bowed low in dreary pain. We are forgot, our voice and I, That once could wake the smile or tear, And stir the heart to tenderness, And drive away its every fear. And now our feet must go alone; Our day is passing, night is near; If we should sink beneath our load, Ah! who will drop a silent tear? A thought comes to us, and it cheers, It makes the lonely heart rejoice, That in a sphere above the stars Awaits a more melodious voice. |
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