And was buried in childhood's sunny plain;
And she who walks the street to-day,
Or in gilded carriage sweeps through the town
Staring her humbler sisters down,
With her jewels gleaming like lucent flame,
Proud of her grandeur and fine array,
Is only a stranger, who bears her name.

And the little boy who played with me,
Hunting birds'-nests in sheltered nooks,
Trudging at nightfall after the cows,
Exploring the barn-loft, fording the brooks,
Ending, in school-time, puzzled brows
Over the same small lesson books;
Who knelt by my side in the twilight dim,
Praying "the Lord our souls to keep,"
Then on the same pillow fell asleep,
Hushed by our mother's evening hymn;
Whose heart and mine kept such perfect time,
Such loving cadence, such tender rhyme,
Blent in child grief, and perfected in glee--
We meet on the street and we clasp the hand,
And our names on charitable papers stand
Side by side, and we go and bow
Our two gray heads with prayer and vow,
In the same grand church, and hasty word
Of anger, has never our bosoms stirred.
Yet a whole wide world is between us now;
How broad and deep does the gulf appear
Between the hearts that were so near!