Gladdening our souls, as with the morning’s wings.
“Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met,
I and my brethren that from earth are gone,
Under its boughs to hear his voice, which yet
Seems through their gloom to send a silvery tone?
He told of One the grave’s dark bonds who broke,
And our hearts burn’d within us as he spoke.
“He told of far and sunny lands, which lie
Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell:
Bright must they be! for there are none that die,