 | Sursum Corda |  |
97
ONE PAGE.
I closed and clasped the book,
And said, I will not look
(So bitter is the pain)
Within its leaves again!
And said, I will not look
(So bitter is the pain)
Within its leaves again!
My life is written there,
Much blotted, little fair;
One page alone of it
Fresh as the day 'twas writ.
Much blotted, little fair;
One page alone of it
Fresh as the day 'twas writ.
Why should the one clear leaf
Hold my life's bitterest grief?
While so much joy and pain
Fade, why must this remain?
Hold my life's bitterest grief?
While so much joy and pain
Fade, why must this remain?
98
Love wrote at first the script,
With pen in rainbows dipped.
Ere it could fade, o'er all
Death traced with ink of gall.
With pen in rainbows dipped.
Ere it could fade, o'er all
Death traced with ink of gall.
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