Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of gray tombstone-
Not one, of allthe crowd ,to pry
Into thine hour of secrey.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness-for then
The spirits of the deadwho stood
In life before thee are again
IN death around thee-and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
The night, tho' shall frown
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like hope to mortals given-
But their red orbs, without beams,
To thy weariness shall seem
As burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall pass
No more- like dee-drops from the grass.
The breeze- the breath of God- is still-
And the mist upon the hill,
Shadowy- shadowy- yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
