20
The Other World.
The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,
They have no power to break;
For mortal words are not for them
To utter or partake.
So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide,
So near to press they seem,
They lull us gently to our rest,
And melt into our dream.
And, in the hush of rest they bring
'Tis easy now to see
How lovely and how sweet a pass
The hour of death may be;—
To close the eye, and close the ear,
Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
And, gently drawn in loving arms,
To swoon to that—from this,—
