Appealing language! unto me
|The soldier, who for glory
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!"
The sailor, tost on stormy
|The sculptor, painter, while
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
Of nature in the heart;
For who from mortal life, by choice,
Forgotten would depart?
|Within the heart His Spirit
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!"