III.

_Metempsychosis._


When Grief comes this way by
With her wan lip and drooping eye,
Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;
Soon she'll look on thee less coldly.

Her tears soon cease to flow.
'Tis now not Grief but Joy we know;
From her smiling face the roses
Tell the glad metempsychosis.




IV.


Life with the sun in it--
Shaded by gloom!
Life with the fun in it--
Shadowed by Doom!