Yet duly as the silver vested moon Hiding awhile in the dark breast of night Return'd to take her regent watch again Over our sleeping planet, softly came That shrouded visitant, preferring still Like those who guard us lest we dash our foot Against a stone, to do her blessed work Unseen. And with the liberal gifts she brought For body, and for soul, there seem'd to float A legacy of holy themes and thoughts Behind her, like an incense-stream. He mused Oft-times of patience, and the dying love Of our dear Lord, nor yet without remorse Of that unsullied Truth which Vice rejects, And God requires. How beautiful is Truth! Her right-lined course, amid the veering curves And tangents of the world, her open face Seeking communion with the scanning stars, Her grave, severe simplicity of speech Untrammelled by the wiles of rhetoric, By bribes of popular applause unbow'd, In unison with Him she dwells who ruled The tyranny of Chaos, with the words "_Let there be light!_" Gladly we turn again To that fair mansion mid the rural vales Where first our song awoke. Advancing years Brought to its blessed Lady no regret Or weak complaint for what the hand of Time Had borne away. Enduring charms were hers On which he laid no tax; the beaming smile, The voice of melody, the hand that mark'd Each day with deeds of goodness, and the heart That made God's gift of life more beautiful, The more prolong'd. Its griefs she counted gains, Since He who wisely will'd them cannot err, And loves while He afflicts. Their dialect Was breathed in secret 'tween her soul and Him. But toward mankind, her duties made more pure By the strong heat of their refining fires, Flow'd forth like molten gold. She sought the poor, Counsell'd the ignorant, consoled the sad, And made the happy happier, by her warmth Of social sympathy. She loved to draw The young around her table; well she knew To cheer and teach them, by the tale or song, Or sacred hymn, for music dwelt with her Till life went out. It pleased her much to hear Their innocent merriment, while from the flow And swelling happiness of childhood's heart So simply purchased, she herself imbibed A fuller tide of fresh vitality. Her favor'd guests exultingly rehears'd Their visits to "the Lady," counting each A privilege, not having learned the creed Which modern times inculcate in our land That whatsoe'er is _old_, is _obsolete_.