We can leave the dead in the hands of God,
But the living that are untrue--
How the heart will pine for the olden love
That in by-gone days we knew.
We can leave the dead in the hands of God
And bend to our Father's will
As we look away to the shining shore,
And feel that they love us still.
But hearts that have turned from our own away,
Forgetting the sacred past--
How our spirits sit in the Upas shade
That their cold neglect has cast.
How we mourn the missing link from the chain
That bound together so long,
And weep when we find how fragile a thing
It was we had deemed so strong.
We must meet them still in the busy throng
'Neath the gaze of mocking eyes,
And cover the sorrow that floods the soul
With a well-wrought mask of lies.
While meaningless words of meaningless things
We must force our lips to speak,
With a calmness that's terrible mockery
To hearts just ready to break.
And false, false smiles--those perpetual lies--
On the calm, schooled lip must glow,
While the waters cold of a slighted love
So mournfully surge below.
We can leave the dead in the hands of God,
They have only passed from view;
But spare our hearts from that bitter pang
For those who have proved untrue.
