And they have thanked thee—many a lip
Has asked of thine for words,
When thoughts, life's finer thoughts, have touched
The spirit's inmost chords.
How many loved and honoured thee
Who only knew thy name;
Which o'er the weary working world
Like starry music came!
With what still hours of calm delight
Thy songs and image blend;
I cannot choose but think thou wert
An old familiar friend.
The charm that dwelt in songs of thine
My inmost spirit moved;
And yet I feel as thou hadst been
Not half enough beloved.
They say that thou wert faint, and worn
With suffering and with care;
What music must have filled the soul
That had so much to spare!
Oh, weary One! since thou art laid
Within thy mother's breast—
The green, the quiet mother-earth—
Thrice blessed be thy rest!
Thy heart is left within our hearts.
Although life's pang is o'er;
But the quick tears are in my eyes.
And I can write no more.
oo
