"Good night, sweet Ethel," a silence fell
Solemn and calm, by no whisper broke,
Two sat watching the fire, a spell
Seemed holding each, until Victor spoke.

"Of what are you thinking so earnestly, you fancy I know the thought,
That has grown to deep for utterance, with strange sad memories fraught,
A year, a memorable year ago, yes, we shall ne'er forget,
That day of St. John the Evangelist, that night when two old friends met,
'Twas a dreary watching too my love, all that night in solemn gloom,
Where the dead lay cold and silently, waiting his lonely tomb,
I am glad that Ethel went to-day, and laid a cross on that grave,
I am glad that we each can truly say at the judgement day, 'I forgave,'
I read some lines the other day, that may have been written for us,
Heart histories repeat themselves like others, the lines ran thus:

"And midnight wearily stole on,
Heavy clouds o'er the young moon swept,
We looked out upon life and prayed
We looked upon the dead and wept,
That God can work while man looks on,
That truth will triumph o'er our dread,
A lesson sometimes hard to learn,
We learnt while watching by the dead.

'Twas not a scene that lovers choose,
Did any say that we had loved,
The dead was by us, yet we knew,
That we were living and beloved,