Out of the past
M. Lang
Out of the past comes a memory stealing,
Fain would it rob me of peace and of rest,
Starts in my heart and the old Angelus pealing,
As when thy sould winged its way to the Blest.
Heart of my Sorrow, fair are the roses,
Guarding with love the lone grave where thou art!
'Tis thy white soul that their fragrance discloses
Breathing a prayer for my sorrowing heart.