Tomorrow May Be Too LateThe forest trees defended, When youth was all a-bloom In memory still is standing. Though we are far away From schoolhouse, home and I And even' time we kneel in pray For those who have gone above us. We can see the spring beneath larch And the path each day we we To and from the old school house In childhood days we attended Memory to a gray haired man Is as pleasant as September, And with the crimson autumn le Old Winter time is blended. We live to learn in life's hard school That youth is God's own blessing, And school days are the sweetest To Heaven that we can offer. The parting words of those we I Nature has welled forever, Scenes so sacred to us all in one grave we'll lie together. The words that are unspoken Are words that often sting That start the tear-drops flowing From the brow of strongest men If you have any flowers to off er, Place them on their plate.
-J. P. and Mrs. Dunn,
The Plains Poems in Kansas
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