But pure and white
In the Land of Light
They shall be spread again;
The deep, true love our spirits crave
Earth has never supplied;
Nor till we leave the dreary grave
Shall we be satisfied.




DEAR EMILY.


Dear Emily, sweet Emily!
So early gone to rest,
I love to think of thee as one
Among the good and blest,--
No shadow on thy radiant eye,
No sorrow in thy breast.

Dear Emily, sweet Emily!
I cannot call thee dead:
'Tis true I do not see thy face
Nor hear thy gentle tread;
Yet in my heart of hearts, sweet friend,
Thou never canst be dead.

When by the solemn stream of death
We parted long ago,