FROM SHANKLIN
March 1, 1887
Dear wife, for more than thirty years
Have you and I, hand clasped in hand,
Sometimes all smiles, sometimes in bitter tears,
Wended our way through the strange land
Of living men; until with silvering hair,
And graver mien and steps more slow,
Adown the strand of age we fare
To the still ocean, out beyond time's flow.
True wife, housemother, worn with many cares,
Love's afterglow shall brighten all the years
That yet are ours; and closer still shall be our clasp
Of hands, until they nerveless fall and cease to grasp.
March 1, 1887
Dear wife, for more than thirty years
Have you and I, hand clasped in hand,
Sometimes all smiles, sometimes in bitter tears,
Wended our way through the strange land
Of living men; until with silvering hair,
And graver mien and steps more slow,
Adown the strand of age we fare
To the still ocean, out beyond time's flow.
True wife, housemother, worn with many cares,
Love's afterglow shall brighten all the years
That yet are ours; and closer still shall be our clasp
Of hands, until they nerveless fall and cease to grasp.