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They do me wrong who say I come no more When once I knock and fail to find you in; For every day I stand outside your door And bid you wake, and rise to fight and win. Wail not for precious chances passed away! Weep not for golden ages on the wane! Each night I burn the records of the day--- At sunrise every soul is born again! Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? Dost reel from righteous Retribution's blow ? Then turn from blotted archives of the past And find the future's pages white as snow. Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, To vanished joys be deaf and blind and dumb. My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, But never bind a moment yet to come. Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep; I lend my arm to all who say, "I can!" No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep But yet might rise and be again a man! Walter Malone |
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