The Stream of Life

UNKNOWINGLY, unceasingly, still day by day they pass us by—

Those friends whom we shall never know—comrades to whom our spirits cry.

A little child may shyly smile, a gray haired man may kindly glance;

But smiling still, they pass the while, and life bears on its puppet dance.

Perhaps that girl with eyes sea gray might be a comrade soul to me;

That lad of spirit blithe and gay may hold to friendship’s shrine the key.

But still the stream of life flows by—flows by to some unchartered sea;

A comrade spirit greets the eye, then sweeps away eternally.

With laggard step or joyful feet, at every turn throughout the day

We pass, but we may never meet, for still convention holds her sway.

Brothers and sisters all, they claim—perhaps, but ’tis a weary while.

Since man has dared, unknowing shame, to greet his fellows with a smile.