Reach Your Hand To Me.

A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

Reach your hand to me, my friend,
With its heartiest caress -
Sometime there will come an end
To its present faithfulness -
Sometime I may ask in vain
For the touch of it again,
When between us land or sea
Holds it ever back from me.

Sometime I may need it so,
Groping somewhere in the night,
It will seem to me as though
Just a touch, however light,
Would make all the darkness day,
And along some sunny way
Lead me through an April-shower
Of my tears to this fair hour.

O the present is too sweet
To go on forever thus!
Round the corner of the street
Who can say what waits for us? -
Meeting - greeting, night and day,
Faring each the self-same way -
Still somewhere the path must end. -
Reach your hand to me, my friend!