Classic Poem

At twilight time,
The musing hour,
When the past relives,
And we feel the power
Of the subtle spell that awhile calls back
The treasures we've lost along life's track, —

We sit and dream,
Till the present falls
In the shadow that rises
And sinks on the walls;
And the old time only is living and true,
And dreams are the things that now we do.

Then on the stairs
Is the patter and fall
Of the little feet
That ran through the hall;
We hear the old shout of frolic and glee,
And again the lost darling is on our knee.

The little shoes,
The doll, the cart,
The half-worn frock, —
Oh, who would part
With these treasured trifles that hold the key
To the sacred chamber of memory!

The tears may fall,
The heart may swell;
The loss is bitter;
Yet who can tell,
From a mother's love, what treasure vast
Could buy these waifs of a shipwrecked past?

Our human love
Is but a ray:
In God's great heart
Is full-orbed day.
If the toys of our children we cherish and bless,
Is God's love for his little ones smaller or less?