THIS is a place of endings and of startings,
Of journeys finished, journeys just begun.
It is a place of meetings and of partings,
Of heart-ties welded and of struggles done.
It is a place of laughter and of sighing,
And both commingled in some heart that swells;
A place of whispered questions, low replying,
Lost in the clanging din of engine bells.
It is a place of partings and of meetings,
A place of hoping and a place of fear,
A place of farewells and a place of greetings.
The mountain crests of life are rounded here.
Here does the world pass by in long procession.
Here do the heart’s tides ebb, and flow, and surge.
Earth’s best and worst are mingled in the station.
Here do the paths of all the world converge.
[Poem title in cursive font is above an illustration surrounding the
author’s name. Left side has city skyscrapers and a dollar sign. Middle
has a train station. Right side has a simpler home in the countryside
and a heart. White, billowing clouds form a prominent background for
the city and country settings. One double-line encircles all structures
and the author’s name.]