Love’s History

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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!”