Page:The whistle maker, and other poems (IA whistlemakerothe00rick).pdf/12

 

Oh the heart of me, friend, is alive, yet dead;
 * And the soul is all battered and torn,

All white is the blood, tho its color seems red,
 * And the body still lives, tho it's worn.

Have I loved? yes friend; with all of my heart;
 * And bloomed like a flower, then died.

That set me a-wondering; set me apart,
 * And sapped all my ambition and pride.

No! that it not true, for the pride is all left,
 * And my heart has grown bigger and sad;

And pity awoke when my soul was bereft,
 * And I'm helped by the love that I had.

In the day or at night, sometime I will find
 * A soul that is trampled and weary;

And I shall find ways, to be helpful and kind
 * To the heart that is bowed and dreary.

So the heart of me, friend, has found surcease;
 * And my soul has now found a new song,

And God in his mercy has given me peace,
 * And a work—tho the road may be long.

January 17, 1914. 