’Tis not such music as we mortals know;
It wafts the soul from earthly things away,
Leaving behind the senseless frame of clay.
Friends, kindly faces crowd around me there,
Friends loved the better since they passed away,
Leaving a legacy of wild despair—
And now I see them as in full orb’d day,
The long-lamented once again descry,
Bask in each smile, gaze in each speaking eye.
O blest reunion, Night’s almighty gift,