from SNOW-BOUND

And yet, dear heart! remembering thee,
  Am I not richer than of old?
Safe in thy immortality,
  What change can reach the wealth I hold?
What chance can mar the pearl and gold
  Thy love hath left in trust for me?

And while in life's long afternoon,
  Where cool and long the shadows grow,
I walk to meet the night that soon
  Shall shape and shadow overflow,
I cannot feel that thou art far,
  Since near at need the angels are;

And when the sunset gates unbar,
  Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And, white against the evening star,
  The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

--John Greenleaf Whittier, 1807-1892