DEAR eyes, so full of kindness for us all,
Of sympathy’s sweet cheer, of glinting fun,
Of tenderness for creatures weak and small,
And welcomes never failing any one:—
Dear busy hands, to which all work seemed play,
Defeat impossible, and taste a dower,
Making the common things of every day
Unfold to beauty like an opening flower;
Dear heart, whose every beat until the end
Was quick and ardent with affection’s thrill;
Whose ample chambers sheltered many a friend,
And opened at a touch for others still,—
The world seems colder than it used to be
Since those sweet hands were folded on her breast,
Since the eyes closed in death’s deep mystery
And that great loving heart was stilled to rest.
But like a star she hovers through our tears,
And the Eternal world, so dim, so fair,
Which holds the secret of our mortal years,
Nearer and friendlier seems now she is there.