I cannot tell--
But though the grave be that loved sister's dwelling,
And though my heart e'en now with grief is swelling,
I know 'tis well.

'Tis well with the--
'Tis well with thee, thou lone and silent sleeper!
'Tis well, though thou hast left me here a weeper
Awhile to be.

'Tis well for me--
'Tis well; my home, since thou art gone, is dearer--
The grave is welcome, if it bring me nearer
To heaven and thee.

I'll not repine--
No, blest one; thou art happier than thy brother:
I'll think of thee, as with thy angel-mother,
Sweet sister mine.

Still would I share
Thy love, and meet thee where the flowers are springing,
Where the wild bird his joyous note is singing--
Come to me there.

Oh! come again,
At the still hour, the holy hour of even,
Ere one pale star has gemmed the vault of heaven;
Come to me then.