To G. M. T The sun is sinking in the west,
Long grow the shadows dim;
Have patience, sister, to be blest,
Wait patiently for Him.

Thou knowest love, much love hast had,
Great things of love mayst tell,
Ought'st never to be very sad
For thou too hast lov'd well.

His house thou know'st, who on the brink
Of death loved more than thou,
Loved more than thy great heart can think,
And just as then loves now--

In that great house is one who waits
For thy slow-coming foot;
Glad is he with his angel-mates
Yet often listens mute,

For he of all men loves thee best:
He haunts the heavenly clock;
Ah, he has long been up and drest
To open to thy knock!

Fear not, doubt not because of those
On whom earth's keen winds blow;
God's love shames all our pitying woes,
Be ready thou to go.

Forsaken dream not hearts which here
Bask in no sunny shine;
Each shall one coming day be dear
To love as good as thine.

To G. M. T by George MacDonald