WHEN all my friends say “He is gone,”
And foes agree to let me rest,
When ling’ring night falls down upon
The heart that ached, the restless breast.
There is a way to conquer death,
To rob the grey shade of its spoil,
E’en when is spent my last deep breath
And naught is left of love and toil.
Then come, dear love, and look on me;
Pour your bright spirit in your glance;
My soul suffuse with joy of thee,
Straight from your eyes which do enhance
The light of heaven! One look will raise
Me from my bier, and make me whole,
Restoring youth and gladsome days—
Elixir of my yearning soul!