| Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903. | | | | Separation of Friends | | By John Henry Newman (1801–1890) |
| | | DO not their souls, who ’neath the altar wait | |
| Until their second birth, | |
| The gift of patience need, as separate | |
| From their first friends of earth? | |
| Not that earth’s blessings are not all out-shone | 5 |
| By Eden’s angel flame, | |
| But that earth knows not yet, the Dead has won | |
| That crown which was his aim. | |
| For when he left it, ’twas a twilight scene | |
| About his silent bier, | 10 |
| A breathless struggle, faith and sight between, | |
| And Hope and sacred Fear. | |
| Fear startled at his pains and dreary end, | |
| Hope raised her chalice high, | |
| And the twin-sisters still his shade attend, | 15 |
| View’d in the mourner’s eye. | |
| So day by day for him from earth ascends, | |
| As dew in summer even, | |
| The speechless intercession of his friends, | |
| Toward the azure heaven. * * * * * | 20 |
| Ah! dearest, with a word he could dispel | |
| All questioning, and raise | |
| Our hearts to rapture, whispering all was well, | |
| And turning prayer to praise. | |
| And other secrets too he could declare, | 25 |
| By patterns all divine, | |
| His earthly creed retouching here and there, | |
| And deepening every line. | |
| Dearest! he longs to speak, as I to know, | |
| And yet we both refrain: | 30 |
| It were not good: a little doubt below, | |
| And all will soon be plain. | | | | |
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