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THE DEPARTED.
The friends we love have passed away,
The forms so dear no more we see,
No more we meet the eyes' mild ray,
Or catch the smile of sympathy.
The forms so dear no more we see,
No more we meet the eyes' mild ray,
Or catch the smile of sympathy.
No, these are fled! hut ask thy heart,
Are no fond traces lingering there,
Memories we would not bid depart,
And hopes that bless the hour of prayer?
Are no fond traces lingering there,
Memories we would not bid depart,
And hopes that bless the hour of prayer?
[s not the dream of heaven more sweet,
Bright with the living forms of love?
Does not each trial that we meet
Raise our rapt spirits more above?
Bright with the living forms of love?
Does not each trial that we meet
Raise our rapt spirits more above?
Yes! Death, that pales our glowing cheek,
Tells of an angel's opening bliss;
Again we view the form we seek,
Bright with immortal happiness.
Tells of an angel's opening bliss;
Again we view the form we seek,
Bright with immortal happiness.
