WADE

Out of the infinite depths of love, Floated a spirit song, Plaintive and sad as coo of dove, Burdened for sin and wrong;

So tender and sweet the melody, None heard that song but he. Out of the days of childhood joys, Faded the smile of light;

The sun that dazzled other boys, For him was never bright: The birds sang sweet on every tree — All heard their songs but he.

Out of the realms of infinite light, A song of infinite glee; The faded smile of joy grew bright, “Mother is waiting for thee.”

So tender and sweet the melody, None heard that song but he.