Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows, Whose pity is great therefore, The gift that thy children bring thee
The kindliest thing God ever made, His hand of very healing laid Upon a fevered world, is shade.
It was not then her heart broke-- That moment when she knew That all her faith held holiest
I call my years back, I, grown old, Recall them day by day; And some are dressed in cloth o' gold
April will come to the quiet town That I left long ago, Scattering primroses up and down--
My poplars are like ladies trim, Each conscious of her own estate; In costume somewhat over prim,
She put her wedding-gown away As tenderly as one might close, With kissing lips and finger-tips,