To Marie Louise (Shew)

    Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-

    Of all to whom thine absence is the night-

    The blotting utterly from out high heaven

    The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee

    Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,

    For the resurrection of deep-buried faith

    In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-

    Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed

    Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen

    At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"

    At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled

    In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-

    Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitude

    Nearest resembles worship- oh, remember

    The truest- the most fervently devoted,

    And think that these weak lines are written by him-

    By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think

    His spirit is communing with an angel's.