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Show COMING BACK They say if our beloved dead Should seek the old familiar place, Some stranger would be there instead, And they would find no welcome face. I cannot tell how it might be In other homes, but this I know, Could my lost darling come to me, That she would never find it so. Ofttimes [Oft times] the flowers have come and gone, Ofttimes the winter winds have blown. The while her peaceful rest went on, And I have learned to live alone, Have slowly learned from day to day, In all life's task to bear my part; But whether grave or whether gay, I bide her memory in my heart. Fond, faithful love has blest my way, And friends are round me true and tried, They have their place; but hers to-day Is empty as the day she died. How would I spring with bated breath, And joy too deep for word or sign, To take my darling home from death, And once again to call her mine. I dare not dream the blissful dream, It fills my heart with wild unrest, Where yonder cold, white marbles gleam, She still must slumber, God knows best. But this I know, that those who say Our best beloved would find no place, Have never hungered, every day, Through years and years, for one dear face. |