When Love forgets to veil her eyes,
And wisdom heals her heart,
And helps the spirit to despise
Its baser earthborn part;
In grave glad days, all grief gone by,
Seek, dear, the quiet place
Where in God's Acre I must lie,
While He fulfils His grace.

And sing again the songs we sung,
And tell the tales we told,
And all the dreams that make us young
Will stir you as of old.
The peaceful noons and nights will pass,
The seasons swiftly turn,
The snow will thicken on the grass,
The ice will belt the burn.

And many a genial sun will bring
The swallow to her nest,
And many a simple flower will spring
Above my shrouded breast:
The daisy star in silver set;
The dandelion's gold;
The primrose and the violet;
The clover, honey-souled,

From May to May the years will grow,
Each like a tender bride,
With wistful eyes and thoughts that glow,
And life intensified.
And summers, each more brightly fair,
With rarer charms revealed,
Inspired with every happy air
That blows in Memory's field.

Till in a far-off fading time
The solemn call will come,
That bids the sweet bells dull their chime,
Earth's voices all be dumb.
Another grave will rest by mine,
A love-enhallowed spot,
Till pity fails to read the sign
And we shall be forgot.

Forgot! — but nameless though they go,
While Love and Time contend,
Love's husbandmen reap what they sow,
Love's harvest has no end.
The Lord of Life is Lord of Death,
His winters wait for spring —
Remember, darling; breathe no breath
Of treason to the King.