Classic Poem

TWENTY-FIVE years since! That morn in May
Dearest, seems near as yesterday
Hallowed by love and sacred sorrow;
So be our years till life's downward light
Fades in the dusk, so pure and brief,
In which Faith reaches her hand to Grief
And scarce the Mourner has sighed — " 'tis night! "
Than Angels cry — " 'tis morrow! "