Thursday, March 12, 2015

Cry Of The Untrue



O, for one glance on the pages of the past,
     The leaf that is turned and fast fading away;
O, for a brief look tho’ it count as my last,
     Into the sweet dream of that wonderful day.
O, God! is it sinning to glance from one’s love
     Of the present, a moment to her of the past?
If so I have sinned, O, Father above,
     But ask through thy grace that it count as my last.



March 12, ‘93


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