Ⅰ

Thy soul shall find itself alone

'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone—

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy:

Ⅱ

Be silent in that solitude,

Which is not loneliness—for then

The spirits of the dead who stood

In life before thee are again

In death around thee—and their will

Shall overshadow thee: be still.

Ⅲ

The night—tho' clear—shall frown—

And the stars shall look not down,

From their high thrones in the heaven,

With light like Hope to mortals given—