Classic Poem

Departed spirits, living far away;
Oh! could ye hear my whispers where ye dwell,
Or could my prayer, like a magic spell,
Bring back your beaming forms to where I stray;
How would I meet you, when the busy day
Had left calm moonlight in the wood and dell,
And talk with you of other days, and tell
The joys and sorrows of this breathing clay.

But ye are far away, no more to tread
The busy ways of men, or to be seen
In lonely path, or laughter-sounding room.

A gulf between the living and the dead
Is fix'd for ever, and our Lord has been
Our life of glory only through the tomb.