Till the young weep with rapture, and the old
Wonder, yet dare not doubt; and thou! oh, thou!
Dost thou forget me in my hope’s decay?—
Thou canst not! Through the silent night, even now,
I, that need prayer so much, awake and pray
Still first for thee. O gentle, gentle friend!
How shall I bear this anguish to the end?
Aid!—comes there yet no aid? The voice of blood
Passes heaven’s gate, even ere the crimson flood
Sinks through the greensward! Is there not a cry