The form that was human, wore mortal-made gar ments,
That sat in the chair over there, That hung a worn hat on a nail driven yonder,
That spoke honest words, true and fair,
All these clog my vision as, crying and praying,
I read of that strange body new In glory to rise from mortality faded,
Exultant eternity through.
Yet vainly I try with my poor feeble powers
To think of the loved, even there, Without the kind smile that he wore when among us,
Without the soft, silvery hair.
IN the upward glint of the twilight flame I see one friend who is still the same, Tho he says no word nor speaks my name-
A china sailor, with resting blade Across a blue boat lightly laid, And a cargo fit for fairy trade.
Over the mantel-tree years agone His cheery face like light has shone, When sun and stars had both gone down.