her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child—
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace,
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times impetuous with emotion,
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves, moaning like the ocean,
That can not be at rest—
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We can not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
From THE GOLDEN LEGEND.
Scene.—The Chamber of Gottlieb and Ursula.—Midnight.— Elsie standing by their bedside weeping.
The wind is roaring; the rushing rain