Whose accents shall be with us now, no more!
It is the gift of sorrow to be pure;
And I would press the lesson; that when life
Hath half become a weariness, and hope
Thirsts for serener waters, go abroad
Upon the paths of nature, and when all
Its voices whisper, and its silent things
Are breathing the deep beauty of the world,
Kneel at its simple altar, and the God
Who hath the living waters, shall be there!