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TILL TO-MORROW.
And if,—O saddest chance!—God's pitying hands
Should wide as life and death our paths dissever,
What dearer thought could mend the broken strands
Than thus to wait, until we meet—forever!
Should wide as life and death our paths dissever,
What dearer thought could mend the broken strands
Than thus to wait, until we meet—forever!
So dearest love, be kind,—say not "Good-by,"
But ever, when we're parting,"Till to-morrow."
So shall my lips forget to breathe a sigh,
And Hope smile fondly in the face of Sorrow.
But ever, when we're parting,"Till to-morrow."
So shall my lips forget to breathe a sigh,
And Hope smile fondly in the face of Sorrow.
