The past is lost to us--the book is sealed,
By mortal ne'er to be unclosed again;
The past is gone--beyond all human power
To change the record of but one short hour,
Though since repented of in tears and pain.
The future lies before us--a fair page,
Whereon 'tis ours to write whate'er we will!
Then let us pause in case our careless hand
Shall make a stain which will forever stand,
Through endless time a silent witness still.
'Tis not enough to keep the pages pure,
And let them ever but a blank remain;
Each leaf in turn should on its surface bear
Some writing that shall stand out clear and fair,
To prove our lives have not been spent in vain.
[Illustration]