Sonnet XXII.

Friend most beloved, most honour'd, fare thee well;
All joy go with thee to that home of Love,
Whence thou, at Friendship's call, didst late remove
With pain and grief, and anxious fear, to dwell.
Our gratitude for this we may not tell;
Nay, never, till we meet in realms above,
Can word or act the whole affection prove
With which to thee our thankful bosoms swell.
But well I know, that in these painful hours,
The comfort and support which thou hast brought
Hath, in the depth of both our spirits, wrought
That which shall live when penal flame devours
Earth and its works; a chain of burning thought
Binding thy soul eternally to ours.