IV.
O Ground—confusion to thy face!—think not the treasure that is withering in thy grasp is thine. O no! Thank God, her soul, her immortality, is far beyond thy reach.
V.
Earth, unfeeling Earth, thy heart is adamant; nor hope nor pity find a place in thee. Yet seeds sown in
thy bosom spring up as flowers beautiful and rare. Without thee, a solitary soul—a blank is the world to me—nor merry laugh nor cheerful glance has now a charm.
VI.
Sometimes I weep alone to think that I have lost thy love for ever—and then, oh! bitterly weep to see thy mother’s furrowed brow—full well she feels the treasure lost—the young child and the beautiful. I marvel not, angel, that thou art gone—for heaven were better fitted for thy home than earth; but I marvel that we can live yet awhile on earth—live without thy smile.
VII.
And thou who couldst barely resist the cold—thy fate is hard—nor friend to whisper comfort, nor careful eye to watch—in thy cold, solitary, mysterious grave—none can give comfort. But how foolish! I speak to dust. Thy soul, thank God! is far beyond the hurt of man or evil spirit.