When sinks the spirit’s pride—

The strokes of death to guide:

And turn the living tide.

The glories of the west:

A heavenly peace my breast.

And I will give you rest.”

[Pg 20]

The evening mists arise

As erst in Paradise—

But bright with angels’ eyes.

That since hath oft beguiled

This heart with anguish wild—

Our one beloved child.

Like homeward-speeding dove,

That floods the world above;

[Pg 21]

And evermore shall love.

I move toward mine end:

Shall both in ocean blend.

So sweet and true a friend.

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