Joy pointing on to a far-away grace
Brighter than e'en the beneficent past;

Trouble to measureless distances fled,
Death too remote to be worthy a sigh--
Can there be any one sorry or dead?
Sorrow or death 'neath a summer-blue sky!

Was there a moment we never had met?
Was there a time unexalted by him?
Shone the same lustre in suns when they set?
Sparkled the river with joy to the brim?

Glitter'd the blue over heaven and sea?
Flutter'd the birds to a musical call?
Could he be happy unconscious of me?
And, without Harry, what was I at all?

I stand on a rock where two rivers meet,
With a life behind and a life before;
And one is ebbing away from my feet,
And the other is rising more and more.

Ah, poor little maiden! ah, dear little wife!
Ah, days that are past and days that will come!
The past is nothing--this only is life;
I am going with _him_ and am going HOME.