TO A FRIEND,

INQUIRING IF I WOULD LIVE OVER MY YOUTH

AGAIN.

1.

Do I regret the past?
Would I again live o'er

The morning hours of life?

Nay, William! nay, not so!

In the warm joyance of the summer sun
I do not wish again

The changeful April day.
Nay, William! nay, not so!
Safe haven'd from the sea,
I would not tempt again
The uncertain ocean's wrath.

Praise be to Him who made me what I am,
Other I would not be.

2.

Why is it pleasant then to sit and talk

Of days that are no more?
When in his own dear home

The traveller rests at last,

And tells how often in his wanderings

Nor to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul,
Descend to contemplate

The form that once was dear!
The Spirit is not there
Which kindled that dead eye,
Which throbb'd in that cold heart,
Which in that motionless hand
Hath met thy friendly grasp.
The Spirit is not there!
It is but lifeless perishable flesh
That moulders in the grave;

Earth, air, and water's ministering particles
Now to the elements

Resolved, their uses done.

Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul, Follow thy friend beloved,

The spirit is not there!