Lost one! We miss thee in our sadness and our joy! When at the solemn eventide we stray, ’Mid the still gathering of the twilight shades, To muse upon the dear and hallowed past With its deep, mournful memories, a voice Comes from the still recesses of our hearts “_She is not here!_” In the gay, festive hour, When music peals upon the perfumed air, And wit and mirth are ringing in our ears, And light forms floating round us in the dance, And jewels flashing through luxuriant curls, And deep tones breathing vows of tenderness And truth to listening beauty, even then, Amid the wild enchantments of the hour, To many a heart the past comes back again, And, as the fountain of its tears is stirred, A voice comes sounding from its holiest depths, “_Alas! she is not here!_” The spring-time now Is forth upon the fresh green earth, the vales Are one bright wilderness of blooms, the woods, With all their wealth of rainbow tints, repose, Like fairy clouds upon the vernal sky, And every gale is burdened with the gush Of music, free, wild music, yet, lost one, Through all these wildering melodies, that voice As from the very heart of nature comes, “_Alas! she is not here!_” But list! oh, list! From the eternal depths of yonder sky, From where the flash of sun and star is dim In uncreated light, an angel strain, As sweet as that in which the morning stars Together sang o’er the creation’s birth, Comes floating downward through the ravished air, “_Joy! joy! she’s here! she’s here!_” ’Tis midnight deep, And a pale cloud, like that whose shadow fell Upon our souls on that remembered eve, Is passing o’er the moon, but now the shade Falls on one heart alone. I am alone, My dear and long-lost friend. Oh! wheresoe’er In the vast universe of God thou art, I pray thee stoop at this mysterious hour To the dark earth from thy all radiant home, And hold communion with thy weeping friend As in the hours departed.