DEAR EMILY.

Dear Emily, sweet Emily!

So early gone to rest,

I love to think of thee as one

Among the good and blest,—

No shadow on thy radiant eye,

No sorrow in thy breast.

Dear Emily, sweet Emily!

I cannot call thee dead:

‘ Tis true I do not see thy face

Nor hear thy gentle tread;

Yet in my heart of hearts, sweet friend,

Thou never canst be dead.

When by the solemn stream of death

We parted long ago,

How little of the world we knew!

But I have lived to know

How friendship fades, how love decays,

How all things change below.

Time changes some, and absence some,

And envy — oh, the shame!

Of those who played together once

Some rise to wealth and fame,

While in the vale of poverty

The rest remain the same.

But nothing now can come between

Thy heart and mine, sweet friend!

With every image of the past

Thy memory will blend,

And what thou wast in early life

Thou wilt be to the end.

I love to think — oh, call it not

A fancy wild and vain —

That thou hast seen and pitied me

Through all these years of pain;

But I shall know how that has been

When we two meet again.

My bleeding feet have left their mark

Wherever they have passed;

But now the sun is getting low,

The shadows lengthen fast,

And Emily, dear Emily,

All will be well at last!