When the hours of Day are numbered,
  And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
  To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
  And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
  Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed
  Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
  Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished
  Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
  Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,
  Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
  Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,
  Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
  And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep
  Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
  Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me
  With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
  Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
  Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
  Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
  All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
  Such as these have lived and died!

Crime flourishes throughout the land,
And bids defiance to the law,
And wicked deeds on every hand
O'erwhelm our souls with awe!

I know one hardened criminal
Whose maidenhood with crime begins;
Who, safe behind a prison wall,
Should expiate her sins.

She is a thief whene'er she smiles,
For then she steals my heart from me,
And keeps it with a maiden's wiles,
And never sets it free.

She plunders sighs from humankind,
She pilfers tears I would not weep,
She robs me of my peace of mind,
And she purloins my sleep.

Of lawless ways she stands confessed,
And is a burglar bold whene'er
She finds a weakness in my breast,
And slyly enters there.

A gambler she, whose arts entrance,
Whose victims yield without demur;
Content to play Love's game of chance
And lose their hearts to her.

A graver crime is hers; for, when
Her matchless beauty I admire,
Of arson she is guilty then,
And sets my heart on fire.

A bandit, preying on mankind,
Her captives by the score increase;
No hand can e'er their chains unbind,
No ransom bring release.

She is a cruel murderess
Whene'er her eyes send forth a dart,
And as she holds me in duress
It stabs me to the heart.

Crime flourishes throughout the land,
And bids defiance to the law,
And wicked deeds on every hand
O'erwhelm our souls with awe!