To the dark, narrow house where loved ones go, Whence no steps outward turn, whose silent door None but the sexton knocks at any more, Are they not sometimes with us yet below? The longings of the soul would tell us so; Although, so pure and fine their being's essence, Our bodily eyes are witless of their presence, Yet not within the tomb their spirits glow, Like wizard lamps pent up, but whensoever With great thoughts worthy of their high behests Our souls are filled, those bright ones with us be, As, in the patriarch's tent, his angel guests;-- O let us live so worthily, that never We may be far from that blest company. XV. I fain would give to thee the loveliest things, For lovely things belong to thee of right, And thou hast been as peaceful to my sight, As the still thoughts that summer twilight brings; Beneath the shadow of thine angel wings O let me live! O let me rest in thee, Growing to thee more and more utterly, Upbearing and upborn, till outward things Are only as they share in thee a part! Look kindly on me, let thy holy eyes Bless me from the deep fulness of thy heart; So shall my soul in its right strength arise, And nevermore shall pine and shrink and start, Safe-sheltered in thy full souled sympathies. XVI. Much I had mused of Love, and in my soul There was one chamber where I dared not look, So much its dark and dreary voidness shook My spirit, feeling that I was not whole: All my deep longings flowed toward one goal For long, long years, but were not answerèd, Till Hope was drooping, Faith well-nigh stone-dead, And I was still a blind, earth-delving mole; Yet did I know that God was wise and good, And would fulfil my being late or soon; Nor was such thought in vain, for, seeing thee, Great Love rose up, as, o'er a black pine wood, Round, bright, and clear, upstarteth the full moon, Filling my soul with glory utterly. XVII. Sayest thou, most beautiful, that thou wilt wear Flowers and leafy crowns when thou art old, And that thy heart shall never grow so cold But they shall love to wreath thy silvered hair And into age's snows the hope of spring-tide bear? O, in thy child-like wisdom's moveless hold Dwell ever! still the blessings manifold Of purity, of peace, and untaught care For other's hearts, around thy pathway shed, And thou shalt have a crown of deathless flowers To glorify and guard thy blessèd head And give their freshness to thy life's last hours; And, when the Bridegroom calleth, they shall be A wedding-garment white as snow for thee. XVIII.