In the eclipses of your soul, and when you cry "O God！ give more of rest and less of night," My words may rest you； and mayhap a light Shall flash from them bright o'er thy spirit's sky； Then think of me as one who passes by. A few brief hours —— a golden August day, We met, we spake —— I pass fore'er away. Let ev'ry word of mine be golden ray To brighten thy eclipses； and then wilt pray That he who passes thee shall meet thee yet In the "Beyond" where souls may ne'er forget.