John Gibson Lockhart (1794–1854)

WHEN youthful faith hath fled,

Of loving take thy leave;

Be constant to the dead—

The dead cannot deceive.

Sweet modest flowers of Spring,

How fleet your balmy day!

And Man’s brief life can bring

No secondary May:

No earthly burst again

Of gladness out of gloom,

Fond hope and vision vain,

Ungrateful to the tomb.

But ’tis an old belief

That on some solemn shore

Beyond the sphere of grief

Dear friends shall meet once more:

Beyond the sphere of Time

And Sin and Fate’s control,

Serene in endless prime

Of body and of soul.

That creed I fain would keep,

That hope I’ll not forgo—

Eternal be the sleep

Unless to waken so!