Thy soul shall find itself alone'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for
The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are
In death around thee, and their
Shall overshadow thee; be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look
From their high thrones in the
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall
As a burning and a
Which would cling to thee for ever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they
No more, like dewdrop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
