Yet why hath man, from immemorial years,
Yearned for the illusive power that may retain
The parted spirit on life’s threshold still?
Doth not the buried live, e’en though to him
The day’s enchanted melody is mute,
If yet life’s music with fond memories
He wake in friendly breasts? Oh! ’tis from heaven,
This sweet communion of abiding love!
A boon celestial! By its charm we hold
Full oft a solemn converse with the dead;