Will drench thy lowly pillow, sweet, with tears like mine in vain;
And weary, weary months drag on, and long years stretch before,
Whilst thou to me, my beautiful, returnest nevermore.

Beyond our earthly vision--beyond the burial sod,
Where the palm trees and the amaranths grow on the hills of God,
Oh, golden gates, that stand within the holy, heavenly place,
Open for me but a little, that I may behold her face.

Open for me but a little, that I may touch her hand,
And hear her sing the hymn she loved about "The Promised Land."
Oh, my blossom! Oh, my darling! though it be but in a dream,
Speak to me,--I watch--I listen,--speak to me across the stream.

Kneeling--praying at the threshold--day and night, and night and day,
When I rise with heavy eyelids--when I kneel at night to pray--
Still I wait to catch the far-off music of they starry hymn,
Till I hear the voice that called thee bid me rise and enter in.



THE GOLDEN WEDDING.

Inscribed to OUR FATHER AND MOTHER, and read on that Anniversary,
FEBRUARY 15TH, 1876.


A half a century of time,
The mingled pain and bliss
That make the history of life