The moments fly, the days fulfil the year, And year to year is added one by one, Until, half dreading truth, some almost fear To stop and reckon what Old Time has done. Thrice blest the two, who hand in hand the while, Together take that backward look and smile; 'Twas not all fair, some bleak and stormy weather, Some hills to climb and bits of road rough-hewn; The journey varied; but happily together They walked, with lifted eyes and hearts in tune; They do not measure time in care-free hours, Nor yet in days of toil or fruitless fears; Love's youthful fetters are frail wreaths of flowers, Fire-forged, time-tested are the bonds of years. |