Littell's Living Age/Volume 155/Issue 2007/Hidden, not Lost

in his sleep a baby lies Buried, till waking bids him rise; As in the acorn trees are hid, To show themselves when summers bid; As in the mind dear faces lurk Unseen till memory's wand shall work: So sleeps my love within her grave — Not 'neath that sod, But there with God! Alone, Till, dying, I shall death obey, And follow her the selfsame way She went; Then shall I see her face to face — The old delight with double grace — And each to each shall wake from sleep, Love’s endless fellowship to keep — Not there, Beneath that rounded sod, But there, In heaven, in life with God!