After so long an absence 
At last we meet agin: 
Does the meeting give us pleasure, 
Or does it give us pain? 

The tree of life has been shaken, 
And but few of us linger now, 
Like the prophets two or three berries 
In the top of the uppermost bough. 

We cordially greet each other 
In the old, familiar tone; 
And we think, though we do not say it, 
How old and gray he is grown! 

We speak of a Merry Christmas 
And many a Happy New Year; 
But each in his heart is thinking 
Of those that are not here. 

We speak of friends and their fortunes, 
And of what they did and said, 
Till the dead alone seem living, 
And the living alone seem dead. 

And at last we hardly distinguish 
Between the ghosts and the guests; 
And a mist and shadow of sadness 
Steals over our merriest jests.