When youthful faith has 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 year can bring
  No secondary May.

No earthly burst again
  Of gladness out of gloom;
Fond hope and vision vain,
  Ungrateful to the tomb!

But 't is an old belief,
  That on some solemn shore,
Beyond the sphere of grief,
  Dear friends will meet once more.

Beyond the sphere of time,
  And sin, and fate's control,
Serene in changeless prime
  Of body and of soul.

That creed I fain would keep
  That hope I'll not forego;
Eternal be the sleep,
  Unless to waken so.