Classic Poem

In gentle bosoms tried and true
How oft the thought will be,
" Dear friend, shall I remember you,
Or you remember me? "

But thou, sweet singer of the West,
Whose song in every zone
Has soothed some aching grief to rest
And made some heart thine own,

Whene'er thy tranquil sun descends, —
Far, far that evening be, —
What mortal tongue may count the friends
That shall remember thee?