Old memories come trooping down 
The vistas of the years; 
In blue-girt robes of pleasure clad 
Or garbed in tears.

Down from the days when hope was young 
And sorrow never born, 
My thoughts sweep o'er remembered scenes 
Unto this morn.

Though motley company they are 
Of smile or tear or frown, 
They hold aloft the burnished gold 
Of my heart's crown.

For through it all and over all 
There gleams the light serene, 
On purpled walls and crimson heights 
In love's demesne.