115. Separation of Friends
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{195}
DO not their souls, who 'neath the Altar wait |
| Until their second birth, |
| The gift of patience need, as separate |
| From their first friends of earth? |
| Not that earth's blessings are not all outshone |
| By Eden's Angel flame, |
| But that earth knows not yet, the Dead has won |
| That crown, which was his aim. |
| For when he left it, 'twas a twilight scene |
| About his silent bier, |
| A breathless struggle, faith and sight between, |
| And Hope and sacred Fear. |
| Fear startled at his pains and dreary end, |
| Hope raised her chalice high, |
| And the twin-sisters still his shade attend, |
| View'd in the mourner's eye. {196} |
| So day by day for him from earth ascends, |
| As steam in summer-even, |
| The speechless intercession of his friends, |
| Toward the azure heaven. |
| Ah dearest, with a
word he could dispel |
| All questioning, and raise |
| Our hearts to rapture, whispering all was well |
| And turning prayer to praise. |
| And other secrets too he could declare, |
| By patterns all divine, |
| His earthly creed retouching here and there, |
| And deepening every line. |
| Dearest! he longs to speak, as I to know, |
| And yet we both refrain: |
| It were not good: a little doubt below, |
| And all will soon be plain [Note]. |
Marseilles.
June 27, 1833. |