That soon the night of Death may throw its mantle over me,
And unfamiliar things shall rise from dark eternity.
Yet, would I hope, when such shall come, to dwell not with pain,
But walk, with a triumphant song, o'er heaven's unshadowed plain—
Where Youth and Hope, and Love and Joy, (the angels,) ever smile,
And evermore the aching heart from woe and grief beguile.
FOR MARY.
Oh! may the brightest smiles of heaven