Yet I will not think, Sweet friend, but we shall one day meet, and live In quietness, and die so, fearing God. Or if _not_, and these false suggestions be A fit of the weak nature, loth to part With what it lov'd so long, and held so dear; If thou art to be taken, and I left (More sinning, yet unpunish'd, save in thee), It is the will of God, and we are clay In the potter's hands; and, at the worst, are made From absolute nothing, vessels of disgrace, Till, his most righteous purpose wrought in us, Our purified spirits find their perfect rest. THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES (_January_, 1798. _Text of_ 1818) I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a love once, fairest among women; Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her-- All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghost-like, I paced round the haunts of my childhood. Earth seemed a desart I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces-- How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. COMPOSED AT MIDNIGHT (1797? _Text of_ 1818)