These be three silent things: The Falling snow... the hour before the dawn... the mouth of one just dead.
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I shall know by the gleam and glitter Of the golden chain you wear, By your heart's calm strength in loving, Of the fire you have had to bear. Beat on, true heart, forever; Shine bright, strong golden chain; And bless the cleansing fire And the furnace of living pain!
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One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going; Do not strive to grasp them all.
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We are eager to tunnel under the Atlantic and bring the Old World some weeks nearer to the New; but perchance the first news that will leak through into the broad, flapping American ear will be that the Princess Adelaide has the whooping cough.
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No star is ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been.
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