Page:Poems Crandall.djvu/32

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Of flowers they brought the fairest and best,
The lillies of peace nestled close to his breast;
And roses, sweet roses, were everywhere,
Their incense of love filled all the air,
  But crape hung black on the door.

Hark, the minister's voice, "Not many we find
So gentle and loving, so patient and kind."
No one to reproach, no word of complaint;
He had lived a man, they made him a saint,
  When crape hung black on the door.

The tenderness lavished on that cold clay
Would have cheered his heart for many a day;
Would have given him courage to fight for his life.
And perhaps not so soon, oh daughter and wife,
  Would crape have hung on the door.

And fain was the hungry soul to stay,
But they reverently passed with their box of clay;
Then the hearse through the cold November rain
  Moved on to the grave, and their cries were vain.

Oh, friends, to the dear ones while they live,
A bountiful store of affection give.
For the time will come, and who can say
How soon may come the woeful day,
  And crape hang black on your door.

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