SONG _You that have seen how the world and its glory_ _Change and grow old like the love of a friend;_ _You that have come to the end of the story,_ _You that were tired ere you came to the end;_ _You that are weary of laughter and sorrow,_ _Pain and pleasure, labour and sin,_ _Sick of the midnight and dreading the morrow,_ _Ah, come in; come in._ _You that are bearing the load of the ages;_ _You that have loved overmuch and too late;_ _You that confute all the saws of the sages;_ _You that served only because you must wait,_ _Knowing your work was a wasted endeavour;_ _You that have lost and yet triumphed therein,_ _Add loss to your losses and triumph for ever;_ _Ah, come in; come in._ And we knew as we went up that twisted street, With its violet shadows and pearl-pale walls, We were coming to Something strange and sweet, For the dim air echoed with elfin calls; And, far away, in the heart of the City, A murmur of laughter and revelry rose,-- A sound that was faint as the smile of Pity, And sweet as a swan-song’s golden close. And then, once more, as we marched along, There surged all round us that wonderful song; And it swung to the tramp of our marching feet; But ah, it was tenderer now and so sweet That it made our eyes grow wet and blind, And the whole wide-world seem mother-kind, Folding us round with a gentle embrace, And pressing our souls to her soft sweet face. SONG _Dreams; dreams; ah, the memory blinding us, Blinding our eyes to the way that we go; Till the new sorrow come, once more reminding us Blindly of kind hearts, ours long ago: Mother-mine, whisper we, yours was the love for me! Still, though our paths lie lone and apart, Yours is the true love, shining above for me, Yours are the kind eyes, hurting my heart._ _Dreams; dreams; ah, how shall we sing of them,_ _Dreams that we loved with our head on her breast:_ _Dreams; dreams; and the cradle-sweet swing of them;_ _Ay, for her voice was the sound we loved best:_ _Can we remember at all or, forgetting it,_ _Can we recall for a moment the gleam_ _Of our childhood’s delight and the wonder begetting it,_ _Wonder awakened in dreams of a dream?_