The Past Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

The Past it is fraught with many a feeling
Of pleasure, of sadness, of joy, and of pain;
And 'tis sweet of an eve when dewdrops are falling,
To reflect on the days that can ne'er come again.

The Past, it is pleasant! Ah, memory recalls
The period of childhood, when joyous and free,
With innocence crowned, in purity robed,
We revelled in gladness and sported in glee.

The Past, it is saddening! full many a loved one
That joined in each pleasure, partook of each pain,
Have passed on before, to the spirit land flown,
And left us below, till their prize we attain.

The Past's irrevocable! every word we've spoken,
Or action committed, been stamp'd with its seal
Immortal, enduring, 'twill stand sure forever,
As no time can efface, nor effulgence reveal.

Then, then, should the Present be valued and used
As a boon from the Author and Giver of gifts;
That so, when 'tis past, we could always enjoy
The pleasant assurance of its being well spent.