Upon my gladness fell a gloom:
Thee saw I—on some far‐off day—
My husband, by thy loved one’s tomb:
I could not help thee where I lay.
Ah! traitress I, to die the first!
Ah! hapless thou, to mourn alone!
Sudden that truth upon me burst,
Confessed so oft; till then unknown.
There _lives_ Who loves him!—loves and loved
Better a million‐fold than I!
That Love with countenance unremoved
Looked on him from eternity.
That Love, all Wisdom and all Power,
Though I were dust, would guard him still,
And, faithful at the last dread hour,
Stand near him, whispering, “Fear no ill!”