What are all your thoughts about,
    Little Bride in White?
Has love put each fear and doubt
In your questioning heart to rout
    And made all things bright?

Does it seem a solemn hour,
    Little Bride in White?
Or is earth a garden spot
Where from flower to flower
Flit your butterflies of thought
In a dancing flock,
With no wish or power
Their frail, fluttering wings to lift
Higher than a wedding gift,
Or a wedding frock?

You, the receiver of many gifts to-day, O Little Bride in White!
From this hour onward to the end of life
It must be you who gives, if you seek happiness.
    You must give love.
Love is a rope of gold braided with many strands, and needing a lifetime for the making.

See to it that no strands of straw enter into the weaving.
Gentleness and wisdom, patience, faith and trust,
And the firm fibre of unselfishness--all these things must
Be woven day by day into love's rope.
    And hope
So radiant it gives a lustre to the night,
And loyalty so strong it conquers time and death.
Weave, weave, Little Bride in White.

Learn how to use the common homely threads
In making love's rope strong enough to bear
    Earth's strain and strife:
Order and prudence and sweet sympathy--
A large appreciation of small joys,
And gratitude that speaks in words and acts,
Long recollection of all pleasant things
And quick forgetfulness of what seemed ill;
A sense of humour and a gift of tact,
And understanding of the charm that lies
In silent pauses in the song of life.
Weave, weave, Little Bride in White.

Weave love's rope into a mighty cable, that shall bring your
Marriage Bark over dangerous seas, into the Harbour of Companionship.
Weave, Little Bride in White.

Poems of affection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1920.

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