I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air-- I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath-- It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows't were better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath-- Where hushed awakenings are dear.... But I've a rendezvous with Death At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.
Let us be kind; The way is long and lonely, And human hearts are asking for this blessing only-- That we be kind. We cannot know the grief that men may borrow, We cannot see the souls storm-swept by sorrow, But love can shine upon the way to-day, to-morrow-- Let us be kind.
Let us be kind; This is a wealth that has no measure, This is of Heaven and earth the highest treasure-- Let us be kind. A tender word, a smile of love in meeting, A song of hope and victory to those retreating, A glimpse of God and brotherhood while life is fleeting-- Let us be kind.
Let us be kind; Around the world the tears of time are falling, And for the loved and lost these human hearts are calling-- Let us be kind. To age and youth let gracious words be spoken; Upon the wheel of pain so many lives are broken, We live in vain who give no tender token-- Let us be kind.
Let us be kind; The sunset tints will soon be in the west, Too late the flowers are laid then on the quiet breast-- Let us be kind. And when the angel guides have sought and found us, Their hands shall link the broken ties of earth that bound us, And Heaven and home shall brighten all around us-- Let us be kind.
Oh! listen to the water mill, through all the livelong day, As the clicking of the wheels wears hour by hour away; How languidly the autumn wind does stir the withered leaves As in the fields the reapers sing, while binding up their sheaves! A solemn proverb strikes my mind, and as a spell is cast, "The mill will never grind again with water that is past."