That loved-one yet is here; and flowers, and songs,
And streams—to gush above her own free feet
Of stainless ivory,—and countless throngs
Of birds are living, her pure soul to greet.
And the lone spirit, thoughtfully that longs
For a dim view of Eden, from a seat
O'erhanging some green valley, now espies
Nought that might dread compare with Paradise!
There is a glory gone forth from on high!—
It quickens the heart's beat, whereon it flings