Oh the heart of me, friend, is alive, yet dead;
And the soul is all battered and torn,
All white is the blood, tho its color seems red,
And the body still lives, tho it's worn.
Have I loved? yes friend; with all of my heart;
And bloomed like a flower, then died.
That set me a-wondering; set me apart,
And sapped all my ambition and pride.
No! that it not true, for the pride is all left,
And my heart has grown bigger and sad;
And pity awoke when my soul was bereft,
And I'm helped by the love that I had.
In the day or at night, sometime I will find
A soul that is trampled and weary;
And I shall find ways, to be helpful and kind
To the heart that is bowed and dreary.
So the heart of me, friend, has found surcease;
And my soul has now found a new song,
And God in his mercy has given me peace,
And a work—tho the road may be long.
January 17, 1914.
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