March 1, 1887
Dear wife, for more than thirty yearsHave you and I, hand clasped in hand,Sometimes all smiles, sometimes in bitter tears,Wended our way through the strange landOf living men; until with silvering hair,And graver mien and steps more slow,Adown the strand of age we fareTo the still ocean, out beyond time's flow.
True wife, housemother, worn with many cares,Love's afterglow shall brighten all the yearsThat yet are ours; and closer still shall be our claspOf hands, until they nerveless fall and cease to grasp.
