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

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

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

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

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

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