And save as see we in our dreams The dear ones gone before, The friends that here we knew and loved, We'll know and love no more. 

An endless and unbroken rest, Nor change, nor night, nor day, Where aimless, as in sleep, we'll dream Eternity away. 

Sweet friend of mine, that Heaven of thine Methinks if overblest; We could not work on earth enough To need so long a rest. 

Our human nature could not be Content with rest like this, And even bliss could cloy, if we Had nothing else but bliss. 

Great Nature's hand, in every plan, Had laid in wise design, But what design, or use, is in This theory of thine? 

If, when our earth-career is done, All conscious life must cease, And we drift on, and on, and on, In endless, dreamy peace— 

If Heaven is but a mystic spell, Whose glowing visions thrall, Why should we have a life beyond? Why have a Heaven at all? 

 

     CONSOLANCE. 

"Be brave?" why, yes, I will; I'll never more despair; Who could, with such sweet comforting as yours? How, like the voice that stilled the tempest air, Your mild philosophy its reasoning pours. 

Go you and build a temple to the skies, and make Your soul an alter-offering on the pile; Then, from its lightning-riven ruin, take Your crushed and bleeding self, and calmly smile. 

When loud, and fierce, and wild, a storm sweeps o'er your rest, Say that it soothes you—brings you peace again; Laugh while the hot steel quivers in your breast, And "make believe" you love the scorching pain. 

See every earthly thing your life is woven round, Fall, drop by drop, until your heart is sieved! Go mad and writhe, and moan upon the ground, And curse, and die, and say that you have prayed and lived! 

Then come to me, as now, and I will take your hand, And look upon your face and smile and say: "All were not born to hold a magic wand; Cheer up, my friend, you must be brave always." 

 

     WHEN THE ROSES GO. 

You tell me you love me; you bid me believe That never such lover could mean to 

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