Poem Hunter
(1847-1949 / United States)


Poem By Charles Hanson Towne

Although I dare to say
My heart untarnished is from day to day,
'Tis not, O Love, that any strength of mine
Has kept all white the shrine.

But as I now look back
Across the years that span the weary track,
All the dear deeds I ever strove to do
Were done because of you.

All the white thoughts I had
Were but pure flowers, one day to make you glad;
Every improving act, each little grace,
Humbly, dear one, I trace

Back to my hope of you,
Long, long before your wondrous face I knew.
Ah! your white coming, silent and unseen,
Made me and kept me clean!

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