Page:Comin' Thro' the Rye (1898).djvu/510

502 Will they find each other up above, I wonder, my lost love and my little lost angel? And since I shall go to them, but they will not return to me, I pant, I weary, I burn for the moment when death, "like a friend's voice from a distant field," shall call to me, and, taking my hand in his, lead me to the plains and fields that girdle round the shining city where shall I not see my darlings stepping to meet me through the unfading, incorruptible splendour of "God's rye?"