By Fred J. Willoughby
April 26, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 30. Page 1
“Till we meet!”—the words are sad!
Once they made my bosom glad,
Once those simple words were sweet,
And with joyousness replete;
For, whene’er I read them o’er,
They had hidden sweets in store,
“Till we meet” were pleasant words,
Kept in mind like notes of birds.
Time was, when we’d separate,
‘Twas not long that we should wait,
Ere each other ‘gain we’d greet,
And then part with, “till we meet.”
“Till we meet!” It may be years,
And the eyes grown dim with tears,
And the soul grown full of pain,
Ere we twain shall meet again.
Ah, my heart with painful throb,
Makes my bosom wildly sob!
“Till we meet!” We may Not meet!
Hearts may warmly cease to beat,
Tired feet may seek repose,
Brain and body free from woes,
Hands lay folded on the breast,
Nerveless, pulseless, hushed to rest!
Lips may cease to wreath in smiles,
And the eye may lose its wiles.
And the honeyed tongue forget
How it moved when last we met;
But I know some happy day,
Coming soon or far away,
We shall meet and never know
Grief of partings, pain or woe,
Where our lips will quaff with joy,
Life-of-Love without alloy,
Where eternal life is ours,
On the other happy shores!