Love's History

Love, the baby, Crept abroad to pluck a flower: One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe; One said, Wait the hour. Love, the boy, Joined the youngsters at their play: But they gave him little joy, And he went away. Love, the youth, Roamed the country, quiver-laden; From him fled away in sooth Many a man and maiden! Love, the man, Sought a service all about; But they called him feeble, one They could do without. Love, the aged, Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles, Read a volume many-paged, Full of tears and smiles. Love, the weary, Tottered down the shelving road: At its foot, lo, Night, the starry, Meeting him from God! 'Love, the holy,' Sang a music in her dome, Sang it softly, sang it slowly, 'Love is coming home!'