That where we locked
Our hands and talked
Amid our chosen flowers,
The lips we pressed
Should be caressed
By other lips than ours,—
That other eyes should watch for him,
And other arms embrace,
Until our image growing dim
Yield to another’s face.
And this is love!
O injured Dove!
Thy wings have many a stain:
But pure and white
In the Land of Light
They shall be spread again;
The deep, true love our spirits crave
Earth has never supplied;
Nor till we leave the dreary grave
Shall we be satisfied.
Dear Emily, sweet Emily!
So early gone to rest,
I love to think of thee as one
Among the good and blest,—
No shadow on thy radiant eye,
No sorrow in thy breast.
Dear Emily, sweet Emily!
I cannot call thee dead:
’Tis true I do not see thy face
Nor hear thy gentle tread;
Yet in my heart of hearts, sweet friend,
Thou never canst be dead.
When by the solemn stream of death
We parted long ago,
How little of the world we knew!
But I have lived to know
How friendship fades, how love decays,
How all things change below.
Time changes some, and absence some,
And envy—oh, the shame!
Of those who played together once
Some rise to wealth and fame,
While in the vale of poverty
The rest remain the same.
But nothing now can come between
Thy heart and mine, sweet friend!
With every image of the past
Thy memory will blend,
And what thou wast in early life
Thou wilt be to the end.
I love to think—oh, call it not
A fancy wild and vain—
That thou hast seen and pitied me
Through all these years of pain;
But I shall know how that has been
When we two meet again.
My bleeding feet have left their mark
Wherever they have passed;
But now the sun is getting low,
The shadows lengthen fast,
And Emily, dear Emily,
All will be well at last!
She sleeps the quiet sleep of death and I survive.
But for what purpose? why was not I called first to
explore the untried regions of eternity? ’Tis
known only to Him whose mighty arm often spares the
humble flower while the waving trees that stand around
it are torn from their roots by the roaring tempest.
She has gone before me, and yet how long may it be
ere I shall follow her? O solemn thought!—well
might it sink deeply into my heart, and taking root
there spring forth yielding fruits of repentance.
Soon may Death, the great enemy of mankind, add one
more ghastly victim to the lifeless piles that lie
heaped together in every clime and on every shore;
and when my death-knell shall sound will it be the
signal of a spirit wailing in the regions of the
lost, or rejoicing in the bright realms of everlasting
bliss? It is for me, and me alone to decide.
Perhaps it is for this that my life has been spared—that
I might make a firm and decided choice; and shall I
still draw back? shall I still hesitate and remain
inactive? No, no; for “now is the
accepted time, and now is the day of salvation.”
