DEAD FACES.
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There, farther back in the shadows, The little ones close to his knee,My dear old father is sitting, And smiling to-night on me.Thank God! I have never quite lost them; These precious, dead darlings of mine;They come to me often, and often— A presence unearthly divine.
They fill all my being with sweetness, With radiant, roseate bloom;They sweep from the grave all its darkness, And clothe with their beauty the tomb.In the hush of the unlighted hours That come when the sunshine has fled.I turn to these dear, loving faces, Half dreaming they can not be dead.
