Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 25 1829.pdf/14



Holy hath been our converse, gentle friend! Full of high thoughts breathing of heavenward hope, Deepen'd by tenderest memories of the dead; Therefore, beyond the Grave, I surely deem That we shall meet again.

Come to me, when my soul Hath but a few dim hours to linger here; When earthly chains are as a shrivell'd scroll, Oh! let me feel thy presence! be but near!

That I may look once more Into thine eyes, which never changed for me; That I may speak to thee of that bright shore, Where, with our treasures, we have yearn'd to be.

Thou friend of many days! Of sadness and of joy, of home and hearth! Will not thy spirit aid me then to raise The trembling pinions of my hope from earth?

By every solemn thought Which on our hearts hath sunk, in years gone by, From the deep voices of the mountains caught, Or all th' adoring silence of the sky:

By every lofty theme, Wherein, in low-toned reverence, we have spoken; By our communion in each fervent dream That sought from realms beyond the grave, a token:

And by our tears for those Whose loss hath touch'd our world with hues of death; And by the hopes that with their dust repose, As flowers await the south wind's vernal breath:

Come to me in that day— The one—the sever'd from all days!—O Friend! Even then, if human thought may then have sway, My soul with thine shall yet rejoice to blend.

Nor then, nor there alone: I ask my heart if all indeed must die; All that of holiest feeling it hath known? And my heart's Voice replies–Eternity!