Though the past haunt me as a spirit, I do not ask to forget.
Gird your hearts with silent fortitude, Suffering, yet hoping all things.
The opening and the folding flowers, that laugh to the summer's day.
There is in all this cold and hollow world, No fount of deep, strong,deathless love ;save that within a mother's heart
life's best balm - Forgetfulness!
What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine.