Joseph Pullman Porter
When skies are black instead of azure blue
And all the world seems sadly out of tune,
Memory's immortal picture, I review,
And find one smile, as fair as any rose of June.
Though far away, once more I see thy smile.
Sweet words fall from thy tender lips again.
I feel thy presence and I know the while,
Dear heart, that love in never giv'n in vain.