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Poem	WHEN the hours of Day are numbered And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul that slumbered To a holy calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted 5 And like phantoms grim and tall Shadows from the fitful firelight Dance upon the parlor wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; 10 The beloved the true-hearted Come to visit me once more; He the young and strong who cherished Noble longings for the strife By the roadside fell and perished 15 Weary with the march of life! They the holy ones and weakly Who the cross of suffering bore Folded their pale hands so meekly Spake with us on earth no more! 20 And with them the Being Beauteous Who unto my youth was given More than all things else to love me And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep 25 Comes that messenger divine Takes the vacant chair beside me Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes 30 Like the stars so still and saint-like Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not yet comprehended Is the spirit's voiceless prayer Soft rebukes in blessings ended 35 Breathing from her lips of air. Oh though oft depressed and lonely All my fears are laid aside If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died! 40
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