He had no kith or kin,

He had no home or hearth,

Disease and dire famine

His comrades were on earth.

They said he had some gold,

And that he soon must change,

And so his dear life hold;

He didn't; strange! passing strange!

He fell in wakeless sleep,

They shed soft sorrowing tears,

And said in tones hushed deep,

"He killed, he killed his years!"

Ah surprise! sight sacred!

When they his palm unfold . . . .

It is a saffroned thread

Whence gleams a plate of gold.¹

O sighs, choke not the breath!

O tears, crowd not the eyes!

Borne on the wings of Death

Two souls in Paradise

Have met; wedded again

Wedded as star to star;

In Love's celestial fane

Their lamps undying are.