I cannot tell you if the
dead,
Who loved us fondly when on earth,
Walk by our side, sit at our
hearth,
By ties of old affection
led....
But this I know--in many
dreams
They come to us from realms
afar,
And leave the golden gates
ajar
Through which immortal glory
streams.
The Dead
And if with prayer and praise thy
heart is filled,
Its fever cooled, its stormy
passions stilled,
If thou dost catch faint glimpses
of that shore
Where sorrow dies, and parting is
no more,
And thou canst almost solve death's
mystery,
O, then, God's handmaid, Beauty, dwells
with thee!
Albert Laighton, Beauty
