TO M. L. S__

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-

Of all to whom thine absence is the night-

The blotting utterly from out high heaven

The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee

Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,

For the resurrection of deep-buried faith

In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-

Of all who, on Despair’s unhallowed bed

Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen

At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"

At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled

In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-

Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitude

Nearest resembles worship- oh, remember

The truest- the most fervently devoted,

And think that these weak lines are written by him-

By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think

His spirit is communing with an angel’s.