Our treasure for a while;
And if a tear steal down,
If human anguish o’er the shaded brow 45
Pass shuddering, when the handful of pure earth
Touches the coffin-lid;
If at our brother’s name
Once and again the thought, ‘For ever gone,’
Comes o’er us like a cloud; yet, gentle spright, 50
Thou turnest not away,
Thou know’st us calm at heart.