Our Days

Over the valley,
The warm winds sigh.
Deep in the shadows,
The night birds cry.

Day is descending,
And night is coming on.
Cloud-strips are forming,
And the sun is most gone.

Cling I...to the memory,
Of the things I have sought.
The acts of achievement,
That the hours have brought.

Was life worth the living?
In the heights...I attained.
Was each moment precious?
In the worth that I gained.

For each day is a treasure,
So filled up with strife.
And a payment that comes,
In living a good life.


E.P. 1908 - 1989