The Sacred Past Is Ours

The Sacred Past Is Ours

What if we never meet again,

Except as strangers meet?

Can we forget the past, - the pain,
The pleasures, sunshine and the rain,

The bitter and the sweet?

Perhaps. And, yet, I think not so.

The sacred past is ours;

And come what may, where'er we go,
Its memories on us still will grow

Dearer with the vanished hours.

Why should we meet, if but to part?

Why part, if not to meet,

Somewhere, with constant, gladdened heart,
In desert or in city's crowded mart,

And love's sweet words repeat!

T. Thomas Fortune

4:31, p. 2

1891.04.25