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[page 1] Appealing language! unto me |
| The soldier, who for glory
dies, However bright may seem The fame he wins in others’ eyes, Would own that fame a dream, Did he not hope its better part Would keep him unforgot. The chosen motto of his heart Is still – "Forget Me Not!" |
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[page 2] The sailor, tost on stormy
seas, |
| The sculptor, painter, while
they trace On canvas, or in stone, Another’s figure, form, or face, Our motto’s spirit own; Each thus would like to leave behind His semblence – and for what? But that the thought which fills his mind Is this – "Forget Me Not!" |
| The poet too, who, borne along In thought to distant time, Pours forth his inmost soul in song, Holds fast this hope sublime! He would a glorious name bequeath, Oblivion shall not blot, And round that name his thoughts enwreath The words – "Forget Me Not!" |
| Our motto is, in truth, the
voice Of nature in the heart; For who from mortal life, by choice, Forgotten would depart? [page 3]
[contd. stanza] |
| Within the heart His Spirit
speaks The words of truth divine, And by its heavenly teaching seeks To make that heart His shrine. This is "the still small voice," which all, In city, or in grot, May hear and live: its gentle call Is – "Man, Forget Me Not!" |