Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1660/The Old Friends


Where are they scattered now,
The old, old friends?
One made her dwelling where the maples glow,
And mighty streams through solemn forests flow,
But never, from that pine-crowned land of snow,
A message sends.

Some meet me oft amid
Life's common ways;
And then, perchance, a word or smile declares
That warm hearts throb beneath their load of cares;
For love grows on, like wheat among the tares,
Till harvest days.

"But some are fall'n asleep;"[1]
The words are sweet!
Oh, friends at rest beneath the blessed sod,
My feet still tread the weary road ye trod
Ere yet your loving souls went back to God!—
When shall we meet?

Oh, thou divinest Friend,
When shall it be
That I may know them in their garments white?
And see them with a new and clearer sight,
Mine old familiar friends — made fair and bright,
Like unto Thee!

Sunday Magazine.Sarah Doudney