--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Unknown collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 28 number: 11 published: 1925-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Unknown, “My Dear Old Pal,” *Improvement Era 28, no. 11 (September 1925)*: 1015–1015." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera28011unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera28011unse start_page: 1015 end_page: 1015 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1925-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera28011unse publication_year: 1925 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1925, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # My Dear Old Pal My Dear Old Pal A Wife's Tribute for the Golden Wedding My dear old pal, You know, I loved you fifty years ago. When life was new, the way untried, You held the rose-hued drapes aside; And through the radiant vista seen Joy danced in robe of purple sheen. My dear old pal, 'Twas true, My dream of love and joy with you. It was not meant our cup should hold No dark alloy amid the gold: So there was sorrow, pain and tears; But always love to meet our fears. My dear old pal, It seems The happiest sequence to my dreams, That in the darkest hour we've known, The tenderest, purest love you've shown. So the unmeasured joy I gain, Becomes my recompense for pain. My dear old pal, I see Love's bower, a lowly cot for me; But so you come at set of sun, Or when the daily toil is done, And as of old you clasp my hand, What matter? I can understand. My dear old pal, You know, The way is clearest where you go, And safest; for the ills I dread All vanish when you go ahead. For love is heaven here below, And heaven is love somewhere, you know, Dear trusted pal, You know. Provo, Utah. ANNIE D. PALMER