WADE

Out of the infinite depths of love,

Floated a spirit song,

Plaintive and sad as coo of dove,

Burdened for sin and wrong;

So tender and sweet the melody,

None heard that song but he.

Out of the days of childhood joys,

Faded the smile of light;

The sun that dazzled other boys,

For him was never bright:

The birds sang sweet on every tree —

All heard their songs but he.

Out of the realms of infinite light,

A song of infinite glee;

The faded smile of joy grew bright,

“Mother is waiting for thee.”

So tender and sweet the melody,

None heard that song but he.