  "When we meet," she said. We never Met again—the world is wide: Leagues of sea, then Death did sever Me from my betrothed Bride. When we parted, long ago— Long it seems in sorrow musing— Fair she stood, with face aglow, In my heart a hope infusing. Now I linger at the grave, While the winds of Winter rave. "When we meet," the words are ringing Clear as when they left her lips, Clear as when her faith upspringing Fronted life and life's eclipse— Rest, dear heart, dear hands, dear feet, Rest; in spite of Death's endeavour, Thou art mine; we soon shall meet, Ocean, Death be passed for ever. Thus I linger by the grave, Cherishing the hope she gave. John Jervis Beresford, M.A. (Author of "Last Year's Leaves.") |
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