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      To Evangeline In Heaven      Everette S. Shelhamer

      And can it be, oh, can it be,      My sister sweet, my own,      That thou hast sailed across the sea      From the isle of Time to Eternity,      And left me all alone?

      And left me all alone! alone!!      Alone on a desert isle;      And thou beyond the bar hast gone      Into a golden realm unknown      Radiant in Heaven's smile!

      Into a golden realm of bliss      Where flowers forever bloom,      Where weary pilgrims rest in peace,      And songs supernal never cease,      Nor night doth throw its gloom.

      Yes, lovely Love, Evangeline,      Thou dwellest over there      Far from the sordid and the mean,      From every sick'ning earthly scene,      In Paradise so fair.

      I look around, and I look around,      And I look for thee, sweet maid;      And I traverse o'er familiar ground,      But find thee not where once thou'st found,      Where frequently we strayed.

      I well remember, ah! I do,      Our pleasant journey longs;      At star play-time when rain-doves rue      We ofttimes strolled as lovers do      When Philomela sings.

      Beneath the whispering trees we strolled      On moonlit eves in Spring;      Nor wast thou ever overbold,      But maidenly and modest-souled-The      queen, and I the king.

      Our love was stronger than the love      Of courting lad and lass;      Our hearts did for each other move      As fervidly as saints above      Beside the sea of glass.

      For thee, my sister, yea, for thee,      I would have gladly died;      Life was not anything to me      Except to let me love, and be      Forever near thy side.

      For thee I would have gladly died,      I would my life have given;      But thou didst close thine eyes and glide      On angel's wings across the tide      Into that waveless haven.

      I yearn for thee, and I sigh for thee,      And I cry for thee, sweet girl,      And linger to hear the melody      Of thy voice as soft as a moon-kissed sea      That musically doth purl.

      But I would not call the back -- no, no!      Back to a vale of tears;      To a desolate desert where naught doth grow      But bitter buds -- where cold winds blow      Their cruel invisible spears.

      Back from a paradise of bliss      To a prison-house of bale;      Back from thy calm contentedness      To a stage of strife and dire distress      Where panged suff'rers wail.

      Ah no! The thought I cannot bear,      I could not be forgiven;      But I shall seek for thee, my fair      Evangeline, waiting there      For me in tearless Heaven.

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