Classic Poem

When I go home, leaving the world behind—
This transitory place that sheltered me;
When I fare down Death's roadway, suddenly
No more a prisoner long strangely blind,
What new delights and vistas shall I find;
What wistful presences shall I then see,
Waiting like shadows in eternity,
With outstretched hands unutterably kind?

All the old love shall rush upon my heart,
All the lost friendships of the world shall come
To whisper to me. Ghosts, you say, are dumb;
Yet these shall speak in the old beautiful way,
And take me very secretly apart,
To say what only those in heaven may say.