SPIRITS OF THE DEAD
Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone - Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy:
Be silent in that solitude Which is not loneliness - for then The spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are again In death around thee - and their will Shall then overshadow thee: be still.
For the night - tho' clear - 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 beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a 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 they pass No more - like dew-drop 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! -