There flows the mystic tide of sacred song
To where I stand upon the rugged shore.
But now there is a silence weird and dread—
And utter loneliness is in my heart.
I came to seek the living but the dead—
This is their welcome. Slowly I depart,
Nor read the name beneath a single cross—
He still is rich who doth not know his loss.
III
There is the school-house; there the lake, the lawn;