At midnight lone, with whispering voices tell,
Old tales of those who passed away before thee,
In brighter lands beyond the sun to dwell.
And when the robe of Autumn gaily shining,
With rainbow hues is o’er the forest thrown,
Go, list the winds among their boughs repining,
And learn on earth thou ne’er can’st dwell alone.
Thou’rt not alone—the shades of the departed,
On radiant wings are soaring softly by—
Thou can’st not see them, but the gentle hearted