Recognition

When souls that have put off their mortal gear Stand in the pure, sweet light of heaven’s day, And wondering deeply what to do or say, And trembling more with rapture than with fear, Desire some token of their friends most dear, Who there some time have made their happy stay, And much have longed for them to come that way, What shall it be, this sign of hope and cheer? Shall it be tone of voice or glance of eye? Shall it be touch of hand or gleam of hair Blown back from spirit-brows by heaven’s air,— Things which of old we knew our dearest by? Oh, naught of this; but, if our love is true, Some secret sense shall cry, ’T is you and—you!

Collection: 
English
John White Chadwick

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