When the hours of day are numbered

And the voices of the night

Wake the better of the soul that slumbered

To a holy, calm delight

Ere the evening lamps are lighted

And like phantoms grim and tall

Shadows from fitful firelight

Dance upon the parlor wall

Then the forms of the departed

Enter at the open door

The beloved, the true hearted

Come to visit me once more

He, the young and strong, who cherished

Noble longings for the strife

By the roadside fell and perished

Weary with the march of life

They the holy ones so weakly

Who, the cross of suffering, bore

Folded their pale hands so meekly

Spake with us on earth no more

And with them the being beauteous

Who unto my youth was given

And of all things else to love me

Is now a saint in heaven

With slow and noiseless footsteps

Comes this messenger divine

Takes the vacant chair beside me

Lays her gentle hand in mine

And she sits and gazes at me

With deep and tender eyes

Like stars so still and saint-like

Looking downward from the skies

Uttered not, yet comprehended

is this spirits voiceless prayer

Soft rebukes in blessings ended

Breathing from her lips of air

O, thought oft depressed and lonely

All my fears are laid aside

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died

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