John Daniel Logan (1869–1929)

I BUILT mine altar on thy Heart:

Each morn I burned Love’s incense there:

And thou the hallowed sacrifice

Blest with thy dear commemorative eyes.

Now thou art gone into the Night,

And Sorrow sits alone with me:

Her cold, dumb lips she will not ope

To call thee from the sepulchre of Hope.

The darkened house within is still:

And though I wistful vigil keep,

The winds without cry mournfully

That thou, alas! wilt not return to me.

*****

Ah, though the days that are to come

Bring not thy lost form back to me,—

Yet will I for Love’s sake arise

Each morn, and to thine Image sacrifice!