To Marie Louise (Shew)

  Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
  Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
  The blotting utterly from out high heaven
  The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee
  Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,
  For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
  In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-
  Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
  Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
  At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"
  At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
  In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-
  Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitude
  Nearest resembles worship- oh, remember
  The truest- the most fervently devoted,
  And think that these weak lines are written by him-
  By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
  His spirit is communing with an angel's.