Part 4 — TO A FRIEND IN THE SPIRIT LAND.

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BY L——, OF EASTFORD HERMITAGE.

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Time passes wearily with me

Since thou hast joined the spirit throng;

I miss thy laugh that rang with glee—

The music of thy voice and song;

And though each day I meet bright eyes,

That look with tenderness on mine,

And cheeks that with the coral vies,

And tones that seem almost divine,

Still they can wake no gentle chord

To vibrate deeply in the heart;

For each bright glance and gentle word,

Must fail to charm while we’re apart.

Then speed thee, Time, upon thy way.

Swift on thy fleeting pinions soar;

And hasten on that blissful day,

When we shall meet to part no more.