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Nor had he lost the dead: they were but gone Before him, whither he should shortly go. Their robes of glory they had first put on; He, cumbered with mortality, below Must yet abide awhile, content to know He should not wait in long expectance here. What cause then for repining, or for woe? Soon shall he join them in their heavenly sphere, And often, even now, he knew that they were near.

'Twas but hi open day to close his eyes, And shut out the uprofitable view Of all this weary world's realities, And forthwith, even as if they lived anew, The dead were with him: features, form and hue, And looks and gestures were restored again: Their actual presence in his heart he knew; And when their converse was disturbed. Oh then How flat and stale it was to mix with living men!