That chattered loud or low.
Ah! I remember many things,
Old middle-aged, and new;
Is the new better than the old,
More bright, more wise, more true?
The old must ever pass away,
The new must still come in;
When these new things are old to you
Be they unstained by sin.
So will their memory be sweet,
A treasury of bliss
To be borne with us in the days
When we their presence miss.
Trifles connected with the love
Of many a vanished friend
Will thrill the heart and wake the sense,
For memory has no end!
{Flowers: p46.jpg}