In Remembrance

In the eclipses of your soul, and when you cry

“O God! give more of rest and less of night,”

My words may rest you; and mayhap a light

Shall flash from them bright o'er thy spirit's sky;

Then think of me as one who passes by.

A few brief hours — a golden August day,

We met, we spake — I pass fore'er away.

Let ev'ry word of mine be golden ray

To brighten thy eclipses; and then wilt pray

That he who passes thee shall meet thee yet

In the “Beyond” where souls may ne'er forget.