WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, | |
| And the voices of the Night | |
| Wake the better soul, that slumbered, | |
| To a holy, calm delight; | |
| |
| Ere the evening lamps are lighted, | 5 |
| And, like phantoms grim and tall, | |
| Shadows from the fitful firelight | |
| Dance upon the parlor wall; | |
| |
| Then the forms of the departed | |
| Enter at the open door; | 10 |
| The beloved, the true-hearted, | |
| Come to visit me once more; | |
| |
| He, the young and strong, who cherished | |
| Noble longings for the strife, | |
| By the roadside fell and perished, | 15 |
| Weary with the march of life! | |
| |
| They, the holy ones and weakly, | |
| Who the cross of suffering bore, | |
| Folded their pale hands so meekly, | |
| Spake with us on earth no more! | 20 |
| |
| And with them the Being Beauteous, | |
| Who unto my youth was given, | |
| More than all things else to love me, | |
| And is now a saint in heaven. | |
| |
| With a slow and noiseless footstep | 25 |
| Comes that messenger divine, | |
| Takes the vacant chair beside me, | |
| Lays her gentle hand in mine. | |
| |
| And she sits and gazes at me | |
| With those deep and tender eyes, | 30 |
| Like the stars, so still and saint-like, | |
| Looking downward from the skies. | |
| |
| Uttered not, yet comprehended, | |
| Is the spirit’s voiceless prayer, | |
| Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, | 35 |
| Breathing from her lips of air. | |
| |
| Oh, though oft depressed and lonely, | |
| All my fears are laid aside, | |
| If I but remember only | |
| Such as these have lived and died! | 40 |
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