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WHEN the hours of Day are numbered
And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul that slumbered1 To a holy calm delight； Ere the evening lamps are lighted And like phantoms2 grim and tall Shadows from the fitful firelight Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door； The beloved the true-hearted Come to visit me once more； He the young and strong who cherished Noble longings4 for the strife5 By the roadside fell and perished Weary with the march of life！ They the holy ones and weakly Who the cross of suffering bore Folded their pale hands so meekly6 Spake with us on earth no more！ And with them the Being Beauteous Who unto my youth was given More than all things else to love me And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine Takes the vacant chair beside me Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes Like the stars so still and saint-like Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not yet comprehended Is the spirit's voiceless prayer Soft rebukes7 in blessings8 ended Breathing from her lips of air. Oh though oft depressed9 and lonely All my fears are laid aside If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died！ 点击  收听单词发音
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