Spirits Of The Dead

Thy soul shall find itself alone--
Alone of all on earth--unknown
The cause--but none are near to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness--for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall then o'ershadow thee--be still:

For the night, tho' clear, shall frown:
And the stars shall look not down
From their thrones, in the dark heav'n;
With light like Hope to mortals giv'n,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy withering heart shall seem
As a burning, and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.

But 'twill leave thee, as each star
In the morning light afar
Will fly thee--and vanish:
--But its thought though can'st not banish.

The breath of God will be still;
And the wisp upon the hill
By that summer breeze unbrok'n
Shall charm thee--as a token,
And a symbol which shall be
Secrecy in thee.