004 
The cherish’d few! ah ! who may tell 
What pathos in those words (.loth dwell: 
A voice of meeting and farewell 
Blends in the sound, 
Weaving a monitory spell 
The heart around. 
But hush, my harp,— such plaintive lay 
Unseemly greets this blessed day. 
How often, when I would be gay, 
Thought backward steers 
Her course, then joy to grief gives way, 
And hopes to fears. 
Yet, whilst I muse on change and death, 
Till earth seems cleft my feet beneath, 
Oh ! may this storm-surviving wreath 
A thought supply, 
That they who live the life of faith * 
“ Shall never die! ” 
* John, xi. 26 . 
