1. To M. L. S. (To Mary Louise Shew)

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning — 

Of all to whom thine absence is the night — 

The blotting utterly from out high heaven 

The sacred sun — of all who, weeping, bless thee 

Hourly for hope — for life — ah! above all, 

For the resurrection of deep-buried faith 

In Truth — in Virtue — in Humanity — 

Of all who, on Despair’s unhallowed bed 

Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen 

At thy soft-murmured words, “Let there be light!” 

At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled 

In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes — 

Of all who owe thee most — whose gratitude 

Nearest resembles worship — oh, remember 

The truest — the most fervently devoted, 

And think that these weak lines are written by him — 

By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think 

His spirit is communing with an angel’s.