Where, in their bright results, shall rise
Thought, virtues, friendships, griefs, and joys.
Leigh Richmond.
Cold hand, I touch thee! Perished friend! I know
What years of mutual joy are gone with thee;
And yet from those benumbed remains there flow
Calm thoughts, that best with chastened hopes agree.
How strange is Death to life! and yet how sure
The law which dooms all living things to die!
Whate’er is outward cannot long endure,