Dear Emily, sweet Emily!
So early gone to rest,
I love to think of thee as one
Among the good and blest,—
No shadow on thy radiant eye,
No sorrow in thy breast.

Dear Emily, sweet Emily!
I cannot call thee dead:
'Tis true I do not see thy face
Nor hear thy gentle tread;
Yet in my heart of hearts, sweet friend,
Thou never canst be dead.

When by the solemn stream of death
We parted long ago,
How little of the world we knew!
But I have lived to know
How friendship fades, how love decays,
How all things change below.

Time changes some, and absence some,
And envy—oh, the shame!
Of those who played together once
Some rise to wealth and fame,
While in the vale of poverty
The rest remain the same.

But nothing now can come between
Thy heart and mine, sweet friend!
With every image of the past
Thy memory will blend,
And what thou wast in early life
Thou wilt be to the end.

I love to think—oh, call it not
A fancy wild and vain—
That thou hast seen and pitied me
Through all these years of pain;
But I shall know how that has been
When we two meet again.

My bleeding feet have left their mark
Wherever they have passed;
But now the sun is getting low,
The shadows lengthen fast,
And Emily, dear Emily,
All will be well at last!