FLOATING. 119
The form that was human, wore mortal-made gar ments,
That sat in the chair over there, That hung a worn hat on a nail driven yonder,
That spoke honest words, true and fair,
All these clog my vision as, crying and praying,
I read of that strange body new In glory to rise from mortality faded,
Exultant eternity through.
Yet vainly I try with my poor feeble powers
To think of the loved, even there, Without the kind smile that he wore when among us,
Without the soft, silvery hair.
��FLOATING.
IN the upward glint of the twilight flame I see one friend who is still the same, Tho he says no word nor speaks my name-
A china sailor, with resting blade Across a blue boat lightly laid, And a cargo fit for fairy trade.
Over the mantel-tree years agone His cheery face like light has shone, When sun and stars had both gone down.
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