Kind Remembrances

’Tis long, dear Annie, since we met, Yet deem not that my heart, For all that absence, can forget A kinsman’s pious part.

How oft on thee, a sufferer mild, My kindly thoughts I turn, He knows, upon whose altar piled The prayers of suppliants burn.

I love thy name, admiring all Thy sacred heaven-sent pain; I love it, for it seems to call The Lost to earth again.

Can I forget, she to thy need Her ministry supplied, Who now, from mortal duty freed, Serves at the Virgin’s side?

What would’st thou more? Upon thy head A two-fold grace is pour’d;— Both in thyself, and for the dead, A witness of thy Lord!