'Twas the wistful petition
Of childish saint, going
Across the dark river
What wonder tis growing!
A NEW FRIEND.
<poem>I DID not know her yesterday, This gentle friend of mine; There was no niche unfilled, I thought, Within this heart of mine.
To-day I know her; songs of mine Have spoken for me while unseen, Stretching like spider lines wind-blown Our severed selves between.
When I have done my best she knew; When I have failed she cared, Looking beyond the ink-clogged pen, My unbreathed trials shared.
Ah ! through this living type I guess How vanished ones may keep Some busy distaff s subtle thread Unbroken, tho I sleep.
And still I gladder grow to think Some souls I do not know As yet may meet me by and by, And, loving me, yet tell me so.