A song for the aged.

Beloved, dost know that, though heaven is far,
Heart throbs unto heart as star answereth to star?
That the dear ones below and the dear ones above
Receive and return mystic tokens of love ?
That the mourner, though lonely, is never alone,
For a form keeps its shadow in one with his own ?
Has a whisper e'er thrilled thee, a tone glad and free,
'Be patient, my own, I am waiting for thee?

' Lone heart, thou art weary ! As age stealeth on
Thou longest, thou yearnest, at times, to be gone.
I read all thy thoughts, and the bright dreams I bring,
The answers to prayers 'neath my sheltering wing,
I pour on thy heart in the hush of the night,
And, hovering o'er thee, catch words of delight.
Oh, wait ! and be patient till Death sets thee free,
For, darling, be sure I am waiting for thee.

'Yes, waiting for thee, and while thou must remain,
The summit of glory I may not attain ;
Thy love is the magnet that holdeth me near
When my spirit would soar to a loftier sphere.
Oh, not e'en for heaven would I widen the space
That holds me, at times, from the light of thy face.
I will stand at the gate, and at last thou wilt see,
When He calls thee to come, I've been waiting for thee.'