Vos Non Vobis
There was a garden planned in Spring’s young days,
Then Summer held it in her bounteous hand,
And many wandered through its blooming ways,
But ne’er the one for whom the work was planned.
And it was vainly done—
For what are many, if we lack the one?
There was a song that lived within the heart
Long time—and then on Music’s wing it strayed!
All sing it now, all praise its artless art,
But ne’er the one for whom the song was made.
And it was vainly done—
For what are many, if we lack the one!
Edith M. Thomas