Kusha Mbewu Dzemutsa

1

Let us gather up the sunbeams, Lying all around our path; Let us keep the wheat and roses, Casting out the thorns and chaff; Let us find our sweetest comfort, In the blessings of the today, With a patient hand removing, All the briers from the way.

2

Strange we never prize the music, Till the sweet-voiced bird is flown! Strange that we should slight the violets, Till the lovely flowers are gone! Strange that summer skies and sunshine, Never seem one half so fair, As when winter’s snowy pinions, Shake the white down in the air.

3

If we knew the baby fingers, Pressed against the window pane, Would be cold and stiff tomorrow, Never trouble us again, Would the bright eyes of our darling, Catch the frown upon our brow? Would the prints of rosy fingers, Vex us then as they do now.

4

Ah! Those little ice-cold fingers, How they point our mem’ries back, To the hasty words and actions, Strewn along our backward track! How those little hands remind us, As in snowy grace they lie, Not to scatter thorns but roses, For our reaping by and by.