Can the forever of happiness be
Outside this ever of pain?
Will the hereafter from suffering free
The weary of body and brain?
Weary of sobbing, like some tired child
Over the tears it has shed;
Weary of sowing the wayside and wild,
Watching the husbandman fled;
Nevermore reaping the harvest we deem,
Evermore gathering in woe—
Say, are the sheaves and the gladness a dream,
Or to the patient who sow?
Lynn, Mass., September 3, 1871.
MEETING OF MY DEPARTED MOTHER AND HUSBAND
"You've traveled long, and far from mortal joys,
To Soul's diviner sense, that spurns such toys,
Brave wrestler, lone.
Now see thy ever-self; Life never fled;
Man is not mortal, never of the dead:
The dark unknown.
"When hope soared high, and joy was eagle-plumed,
Thy pinions drooped; the flesh was weak, and doomed
To pass away.
But faith triumphant round thy death-couch shed
Majestic forms; and radiant glory sped
The dawning day.