John Gibson Lockhart


When youthful faith hath fled, 
	Of loving take thy leave; 
Be constant to the dead Ė 
	The dead cannot deceive.

Sweet modest flowers of Spring, 
	How fleet your balmy day!
And Manís brief life can bring 
	No secondary May:

No earthly burst again 
	Of gladness out of gloom,
Fond hope and vision vain, 
	Ungrateful to the tomb.

But ítis an old belief
	That on some solemn shore 
Beyond the sphere of grief
	Dear friends shall meet once more:

Beyond the sphere of Time 
	And Sin and Fateís control,
Serene in endless prime 
	Of body and of soul.

That creed I fain would keep, 
	That hope Iíll not forgo Ė
Eternal be the sleep 
	Unless to waken so!

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