The shadow in the sunny hour,
The wail in the mirthful song.
Their sight is all too sadly clear—
For them a veil is riven;
Their piercing thoughts repose not here,
Their home is but in heaven.
THE SEA-BIRD FLYING INLAND.
“Thy path is not as mine;—where thou art blest
My spirit would but wither; mine own grief
Is in mine eyes a richer, holier thing,