Sing a song of hearts grown tender,
With the sorrow and the pain;
Sorrow is a great old mender,
Love can give,--and give again.
Love's a prodigal old spender,--
And the jolliest old lender,
For he never turns away
Any one who comes to borrow,
If they say their stock is slender,
And they're sorely pressed by sorrow!
Never has been known to say,--
"We are short ourselves to-day,--
Can't you come again to-morrow?"
That has never been Love's way!
And he's rich beyond all telling,
Love divine all love excelling!




CHAPTER I

BEACH DAYS

When a soldier's watch, with its luminous face,
Loses its light and grows dim and black,
He holds it out in the sun a space
And the radiance all comes back;