Little praises unspoken, little promises broken, We would find the things we intended to do, Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches,Ĭould be dropped, like a shabby old coat, at the door,Īnd I wish that the one whom our blindness had doneĬould be at the gate like the old friend that waits Till last, struck down by some stern blow
With quivering breast and frightened eyes,
