Classic Poem

This shrine a precious gift enfolds;
Look, when its lids unclose,
Not on the shining cross it holds,
But on the love it shows.

What though the silvered brow may seem
Amid the youthful throng
A little farther down the stream
That bears us all along;

Those murmuring waves are mute today,
The stream forgets to run,
The brown locks mingle with the gray,
And all our hearts are one.

Ah, could we bring earth's sweetestsong
And bear its brightest gold,
The gift our grateful hearts would wrong,
Our love were still untold.