To G. M. T

The sun is sinking in the west,         Long grow the shadows dim;         Have patience, sister, to be blest,         Wait patiently for Him.         Thou knowest love, much love hast had,         Great things of love mayst tell,         Ought'st never to be very sad         For thou too hast lov'd well.         His house thou know'st, who on the brink         Of death loved more than thou,         Loved more than thy great heart can think,         And just as then loves now--         In that great house is one who waits         For thy slow-coming foot;         Glad is he with his angel-mates         Yet often listens mute,         For he of all men loves thee best:         He haunts the heavenly clock;         Ah, he has long been up and drest         To open to thy knock!         Fear not, doubt not because of those         On whom earth's keen winds blow;         God's love shames all our pitying woes,         Be ready thou to go.         Forsaken dream not hearts which here         Bask in no sunny shine;         Each shall one coming day be dear         To love as good as thine.