Epitaph

Our loved ones lay them down to sleep And leave us here to grieve and mourn, While we, our silent watches keep, O'er their low graves whence they are bourne. Some heroes are in battle slain, Their names are honored far and near, While others die on beds of pain And no sad mourner sheds a tear.

This day we honor each and all Whose soul has left its temporal case; And be he great, or be he small, We'll reverence his resting place.

Part Second

The poems and story of Masata in part second of this book were written during the last month of the young Author's life.

He was taken to the Spirit Land, January 29, 1919.

The Lily of the Valley

I've a lily of the Valley That I'm keeping here for you; I care for and protect it, And water it with dew. It is a living emblem Of the wonderful domain, Where all is pure and love-like, And where we feel no pain.

Yes, the Lily of the Valley Is a tie twixt you and me; For every time you see one Think how happy I must be. I'm an atom of the infinite, How wonderful it seems; Yet from your sphere the finite But a thin veil intervenes.

The Roses

I have roses in my garden, And their fragrance fills the air. How I love to watch them blooming; For they all are very fair.

Some have deep red velvet petals, Some again are snowy white; And the little baby pink ones, Surely give you such delight.

Pretty birds come to my garden, And sing there the live-long day; Yes the birds and pretty flowers Help and cheer us on our way.

The Seasons