Classic Poem

Art thou a living guardian, ever near
To watch and ward thine own? Or far away,
Bright with the brightness of eternal day
Among just souls made perfect, dost thou hear
The song which stills in music doubt and fear,
There where at last divine compassion dries
The bitter drops that cling to mortal eyes,
Yea, even the mourning mother's sacred tear?

I know not. This at least I know full sure:
There dwells a living presence in the heart,
Not I, but in me, high and strong and pure,
Counsel of right, a bringer of good things,
A fount of joy from deep eternal springs;
O friend, lost friend! that which thou wert, thou art!