A part of that, and those, the sacred few,
With whom my heart has grown in such degree
Of deep endearment as the heavens renew.
Come to me, loved one,
Say—the dead are true.
Come, when the days are dark, the storms are raving,
When friends are passing, and the heart is low,
Come, when the soul is sick, and inly craving
For what it hopes and dreams and fain would know.
Come to me, loved one,