OUR SECRET DRAWER.Thereis a secret drawer in every heart,Wherein we lay our treasures, one by one;Each dear remembrance of the buried past,Each cherished relic of the time that’s gone.The old delights of childhood, long ago;The things we loved because we knew them best;The first discovered primrose in our path;The cuckoo’s earliest note; the robin’s nest;The merry haymakings around our home;Our rambles in the summer woods and lanes;The story told beside the winter fire,While the wind moaned across the window panes;The golden dreams we dreamt in after years,Those magic visions of our young romance;The sunny nooks, the fountains and the flowers,Gilding the fairy landscape of our trance;The link which bound us, later still, to oneWho fills a corner in our life to-day,Without whose love we dare not dream how darkThe rest would seem, if it were gone away;The song that thrilled our souls with very joy;The gentle word that unexpected came;The gift we prized because the thought was kind;The thousand, thousand things that have no name;All these, in some far hidden corner lie,Within the mystery of that secret drawer,Whose magic springs though stranger hands may touch,Yet none may gaze upon its guarded store.Anonymous.* * * * *“Howseldom, friend, a great, good man inheritsHonor, or wealth, with all his worth and pains.”“For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strainWhatwouldst thou that the great, good man obtain?Place, title, salary,—a gilded chain?Or throne on corpses which his sword has slain?Goodness and greatness are notmeans, butends.Hath he not always treasures, always friends,The great, good man? Three treasures, love, and light,And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;And three true friends, more sure than day and night,—Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”Coleridge.
OUR SECRET DRAWER.
Thereis a secret drawer in every heart,Wherein we lay our treasures, one by one;Each dear remembrance of the buried past,Each cherished relic of the time that’s gone.The old delights of childhood, long ago;The things we loved because we knew them best;The first discovered primrose in our path;The cuckoo’s earliest note; the robin’s nest;The merry haymakings around our home;Our rambles in the summer woods and lanes;The story told beside the winter fire,While the wind moaned across the window panes;The golden dreams we dreamt in after years,Those magic visions of our young romance;The sunny nooks, the fountains and the flowers,Gilding the fairy landscape of our trance;The link which bound us, later still, to oneWho fills a corner in our life to-day,Without whose love we dare not dream how darkThe rest would seem, if it were gone away;The song that thrilled our souls with very joy;The gentle word that unexpected came;The gift we prized because the thought was kind;The thousand, thousand things that have no name;All these, in some far hidden corner lie,Within the mystery of that secret drawer,Whose magic springs though stranger hands may touch,Yet none may gaze upon its guarded store.Anonymous.
Thereis a secret drawer in every heart,Wherein we lay our treasures, one by one;Each dear remembrance of the buried past,Each cherished relic of the time that’s gone.The old delights of childhood, long ago;The things we loved because we knew them best;The first discovered primrose in our path;The cuckoo’s earliest note; the robin’s nest;The merry haymakings around our home;Our rambles in the summer woods and lanes;The story told beside the winter fire,While the wind moaned across the window panes;The golden dreams we dreamt in after years,Those magic visions of our young romance;The sunny nooks, the fountains and the flowers,Gilding the fairy landscape of our trance;The link which bound us, later still, to oneWho fills a corner in our life to-day,Without whose love we dare not dream how darkThe rest would seem, if it were gone away;The song that thrilled our souls with very joy;The gentle word that unexpected came;The gift we prized because the thought was kind;The thousand, thousand things that have no name;All these, in some far hidden corner lie,Within the mystery of that secret drawer,Whose magic springs though stranger hands may touch,Yet none may gaze upon its guarded store.Anonymous.
Thereis a secret drawer in every heart,Wherein we lay our treasures, one by one;Each dear remembrance of the buried past,Each cherished relic of the time that’s gone.
Thereis a secret drawer in every heart,
Wherein we lay our treasures, one by one;
Each dear remembrance of the buried past,
Each cherished relic of the time that’s gone.
The old delights of childhood, long ago;The things we loved because we knew them best;The first discovered primrose in our path;The cuckoo’s earliest note; the robin’s nest;
The old delights of childhood, long ago;
The things we loved because we knew them best;
The first discovered primrose in our path;
The cuckoo’s earliest note; the robin’s nest;
The merry haymakings around our home;Our rambles in the summer woods and lanes;The story told beside the winter fire,While the wind moaned across the window panes;
The merry haymakings around our home;
Our rambles in the summer woods and lanes;
The story told beside the winter fire,
While the wind moaned across the window panes;
The golden dreams we dreamt in after years,Those magic visions of our young romance;The sunny nooks, the fountains and the flowers,Gilding the fairy landscape of our trance;
The golden dreams we dreamt in after years,
Those magic visions of our young romance;
The sunny nooks, the fountains and the flowers,
Gilding the fairy landscape of our trance;
The link which bound us, later still, to oneWho fills a corner in our life to-day,Without whose love we dare not dream how darkThe rest would seem, if it were gone away;
The link which bound us, later still, to one
Who fills a corner in our life to-day,
Without whose love we dare not dream how dark
The rest would seem, if it were gone away;
The song that thrilled our souls with very joy;The gentle word that unexpected came;The gift we prized because the thought was kind;The thousand, thousand things that have no name;
The song that thrilled our souls with very joy;
The gentle word that unexpected came;
The gift we prized because the thought was kind;
The thousand, thousand things that have no name;
All these, in some far hidden corner lie,Within the mystery of that secret drawer,Whose magic springs though stranger hands may touch,Yet none may gaze upon its guarded store.
All these, in some far hidden corner lie,
Within the mystery of that secret drawer,
Whose magic springs though stranger hands may touch,
Yet none may gaze upon its guarded store.
Anonymous.
* * * * *
“Howseldom, friend, a great, good man inheritsHonor, or wealth, with all his worth and pains.”“For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strainWhatwouldst thou that the great, good man obtain?Place, title, salary,—a gilded chain?Or throne on corpses which his sword has slain?Goodness and greatness are notmeans, butends.Hath he not always treasures, always friends,The great, good man? Three treasures, love, and light,And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;And three true friends, more sure than day and night,—Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”Coleridge.
“Howseldom, friend, a great, good man inheritsHonor, or wealth, with all his worth and pains.”“For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strainWhatwouldst thou that the great, good man obtain?Place, title, salary,—a gilded chain?Or throne on corpses which his sword has slain?Goodness and greatness are notmeans, butends.Hath he not always treasures, always friends,The great, good man? Three treasures, love, and light,And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;And three true friends, more sure than day and night,—Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”Coleridge.
“Howseldom, friend, a great, good man inheritsHonor, or wealth, with all his worth and pains.”“For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strainWhatwouldst thou that the great, good man obtain?Place, title, salary,—a gilded chain?Or throne on corpses which his sword has slain?Goodness and greatness are notmeans, butends.Hath he not always treasures, always friends,The great, good man? Three treasures, love, and light,And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;And three true friends, more sure than day and night,—Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”
“Howseldom, friend, a great, good man inherits
Honor, or wealth, with all his worth and pains.”
“For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain
Whatwouldst thou that the great, good man obtain?
Place, title, salary,—a gilded chain?
Or throne on corpses which his sword has slain?
Goodness and greatness are notmeans, butends.
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The great, good man? Three treasures, love, and light,
And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;
And three true friends, more sure than day and night,—
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”
Coleridge.