And night is like the darkness of a cave, This gentle spirit glides. Earth's sorrow yet, Its burden, weary burden, borne alone. Sad is the story of her earthly life. You see that lonely house upon the green, With its broad porch beneath that sycamore. 'Tis now a pleasant undisturbed abode. There lingereth much of ancient time within: Long may it cling there in these days of change! Quaint are the rooms, irregular. The bright fire Glows from the corner fire-place. Often there I sit, and marvel o'er the shadowy past. It is a place of welcome. Loving hearts Extend the welcome. Angels welcome thus. Dear sisters, reading there the purest page, Planning some act of gentleness to wo, The selfishness of solitary life, Not finding place amid your daily thoughts, For you commune with that activity Of love most infinite, that once came down