On the Death of Charles Eliot

Farewell! before we meet again,
Perhaps through scenes as yet unknown,
That lie in distant years of pain,
I have to journey on alone;
To meet with griefs thou wilt not feel,
Perchance with joys thou canst not share;
And when we both were wont to kneel,
To breathe alone the silent prayer;

But ne'er a deeper pang to know,
Than when I watched thy slow decay,
Saw on thy cheek the hectic glow,
And felt at last each hope give way.
But who the destined hour may tell,
That bids the loosened spirit fly?
E'en now this pulse's feverish swell
May warn me of mortality.

But chance what may, thou wilt no more
With sense and with my hours beguile,
Inform with learning's various lore,
Or charm with friendship's kindest smile.
Each book I read, each walk I tread,
Whate'er I feel, whate'er I see,
All speak of hopes forever fled,
All have some tale to tell of thee.

I shall not, should misfortune lower,
Should friends desert, and life decline,
I shall not know thy soothing power,
Nor hear thee say, "My heart is thine."
If thou hadst lived, thy well-earned fame
Had bade my fading prospect bloom,
Had cast its lustre o'er my name,
And stood, the guardian of my tomb.

Servant of God! thy ardent mind,
With lengthening years improving still,
Striving, untired, to serve mankind,
Had thus performed thy Father's will.
Another task to thee was given;
' T was thine to drink of early wo,
To feel thy hopes, thy friendships riven,
And blend submissive to the blow;

With patient smile and steady eye,
To meet each pang that sickness gavey
And see with lingering step draw nigh
The form that pointed to the grave.
Servant of God! thou art not there;
Thy race of virtue is not run;
What blooms on earth of good and fair,
Will ripen in another sun.

Dost thou, amid the rapturous glow
With which the soul her welcome hears,
Dost thou still think of us below,
Of earthly scenes, of human tears?
Perhaps e'en now thy thoughts return
To when in summer's moonlight walk,
Of all that now is thine to learn,
We framed no light nor fruitless talk.

We spake of knowledge, such as soars
From world to world with ceaseless flight;
And love, that follows and adores,
As nature spreads before her sight.
How vivid still past scenes appear!
I feel as though all were not o'er;
As though 'twere strange I cannot hear
Thy voice of friendship yet once more.

But I shall hear it; in that day
Whose setting sun I may not view,
When earthly voices die away,
Thine will at last be heard anew.
We meet again; a little while,
And where thou art I too shall be.
And then, with what an angel smile
Of gladness, thou wilt welcome me!