WHO that hath lost some dear-belovèd friend
But knoweth how — when the wild grief is spent
That tore his soul with agony, and did lend
E’en to the splendor-beaming firmament
The blighting darkness of his shadowed heart —
There surely follows peace and quiet sorrow
That lead his spirit, by divinest art,
Past the drear present to that glorious morrow
Where parting is not, neither grief nor fear !
But how shall he find comfort, who sees die,
Not the one presence that he held most dear ;
But from his heart a hope as Heaven high,
And from his life a wish as Truth sublime,
And from his soul a love that mocked at Time?
Hildegarde Hawthorne.