My Old Sweetheart

A poem by Joseph Horatio Chant

My old sweetheart is away to-day;
I feel as I did of old,
In my courting days, when far away
I yearned for her more than gold.

I thought of her handsome, smiling face,
Her noble and cultured brow,
Of her gentle ways, and charming grace;
I missed her less then than now.

Through the long years of our wedded life,
Now nearly a full two score,
She has proved herself a loving wife,
And a sweetheart evermore.

Our love has grown with the flight of time,
As the mountain stream may grow;
Or as a tree in a genial clime
When free from the frost and snow.

The tempest may madly rage without,
We have lasting peace within;
And confidence ne'er gives place to doubt,
Nor concord to noisy din.

She will soon return again to me,
From her visit in the West,
And the dear face that I long to see
Will be nestling on my breast.

And I will feel as in olden time,
With a love not dreamed of then;
No happier man in any clime
Is known to the sons of men.

And when we part at the silent tomb,
'Twill be but a passing day
Before we meet where there is no gloom,
And sweethearts forever stay.


Full forty-six years of wedded life,
Enjoyed with my sweetheart here;
They were happy years, devoid of strife,
And full of Christian cheer;
Then her Master called her spirit home,
And I am left to walk alone.

Ere long my journey, too, will end,
And my spirit to God arise;
Perhaps he may my sweetheart send
To escort me to the skies;
And there with our Saviour we shall be,
Yet sweethearts still through eternity.