Friend of my many yearsWhen the great silence falls, at last, on me,Let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee,A memory of tears,
But pleasant thoughts aloneOf one who was thy friendship's honored guestAnd drank the wine of consolation pressedFrom sorrows of thy own.
I leave with thee a senseOf hands upheld and trials rendered less—The unselfish joy which is to helpfulnessIts own great recompense;
The knowledge that from thine,As from the garments of the Master, stoleCalmness and strength, the virtue which makes wholeAnd heals without a sign;
Yea more, the assurance strongThat love, which fails of perfect utterance here,Lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphereWith its immortal song.1887.