I love to think that spirits dwell
Upon the earth, — the beautiful, the good,
Whose sympathies are pure, yet understood
By none save those who feel the spell.

I love to think that in life's vale
There are ungathered flowers, whose bosoms glow
With silent feeling and with tender woe
For him whose hopes, long cherished, fail.

I love to think that still a ray,
Divine like that of hope, will long be felt
By her to whom in earlier years I knelt, —
The vision of my darkened way.

I love to think that golden hours
Will yet be mine while here on earth I tread, —
Blest hours, when fairer skies will glow o'erhead,
And nought spring 'neath my feet but flowers.

I love to think that I shall meet,
In holier realms, the dear departed few, —
Angelic souls affectionate and true,
Whose last kind words I oft repeat.

I love to think that I shall read
The record of His mighty plan divine
Who dwells in light, and in each golden line
Acquire the wisdom which I need.

I love to think that I shall reign
In some bright sphere, with power to tread the way
From star to star through life's eternal day,
And still to higher spheres attain.