In the eclipses of your soul, and when you cry "O God！ give more of rest and less of night," My words may rest you； and mayhap a light Shall flash from them bright o'er thy spirit's sky； Then think of me as one who passes by. A few brief hours —— a golden August day, We met, we spake —— I pass fore'er away. Let ev'ry word of mine be golden ray To brighten thy eclipses； and then wilt¹ pray That he who passes thee shall meet thee yet In the "Beyond" where souls may ne'er forget.