Not Dead, but Changed
I SAT and mused o’er all the years gone by;
Of friends departed, and of others going;
And dwelt upon their memories with a sigh,
Till floods of tears, their hidden springs o’erflowing,
Betrayed my grief. Soon, a bright light above me,
Voices saying, “We’re near thee yet to love thee,”
Dispelled my tears. I raised my drooping head,
And asked, “Who, who,—the dead?”
When the angelic lost around me ranged
Whispered within my ear, “Not dead, but changed.”