Thus each a mystic path, untried,
Has entered—God is just!
We leave with him our friend who died,
With him we leave our fair young bride
Who shall no more with us abide,
And in His goodness trust.
Oh, life and death, uncertainty,
Bright hopes and anxious fears,
Commingle so bewilderingly,
That perfect joy we may not see
Till all shall reunited be
Beyond this vale of tears!
Watch Hill.
Fair summer home peninsula,
Enriched by every breeze
From fragrant islands, wafted far
Across the sunny seas!
A profile rare! a height of land
Outlined 'gainst heaven's blue
With bolder touch than skillful hand
Of artist ever drew.
In "mountain billows" that parade
The grandeur of the deep,
Is His supremacy displayed
Whose hands the waters keep.
No sweep of waves, in broad expanse,
With wild, weird melody,
Shall thus an unseen world enhance—
"There shall be no more sea!"
A wealth of joy-perfected days,
Where glorious sunset dyes,
Resplendent in declining rays,
Surpass Italia's skies!
Proud caravansaries that compete
In studied arts to please
The multitude, with restless feet,
From earth's antipodes!