I blazoned all the tale of trust betrayed.
But all the waters of repentant tears,
And beating surge of all-effacing years,
Could not erase the record I had made.
And when my burning anger cooled to gentle blame.
That chiseled record fanned it into flame!
A gentle, deed, that should have blessed my lot,
And taught me to forgive and made me kind,
Was Scarce remembered in my anger blind,
But ere it had been done was straight forgot.
For, burning with the hate of outraged pride,
I wrote the deed with careless, heedless hand,
Not where the lasting stone the years defied,
But in the changing, ever-shifting sand.
And when the billows of the passing years
O'er both the written records swept and rolled,
The gentle tale, that would have then consoled,
Was washed away with my repentant tears.
The deed I would forget was still in lasting stone;
The deed that I would still remember,__gone!
Ah, so it is! In hard, enduring stone
We grave our wrongs with anger-guided hands;
While gentle deeds are written on the sands,
To be forgotten ere those deeds are done.
On both the stories fall repentant tears;
But one remains, to mock our keen regret,
Unsoftened by the wearing fall of years;
And one is gone that we would not forget!