180
poems.
"BLESSED ARE THE DEAD WHICH DIE IN THE LORD."
We marked her fading cheek,
And gazed in sadness on her closing eye:
We knew the spoiler's ruthless hand was nigh.
But human strength was weak:
Love could not shield her in its fond embrace,
From him who spares not beauty, rank, nor grace.
And gazed in sadness on her closing eye:
We knew the spoiler's ruthless hand was nigh.
But human strength was weak:
Love could not shield her in its fond embrace,
From him who spares not beauty, rank, nor grace.
The silent tear we shed.
Did not the Saviour hallow with a tear,
Alike the lowly grave, the sable bier?
And o'er our loved and dead
Shall not fond Nature's dewy incense fall,
As from the past her image we recall?
Did not the Saviour hallow with a tear,
Alike the lowly grave, the sable bier?
And o'er our loved and dead
Shall not fond Nature's dewy incense fall,
As from the past her image we recall?
The placid smile we miss,
Which kindled gladness wheresoe'er it fell,—
The heart which beat so true, and loved so well.
It was our meed of bliss
To share awhile the sunlight of her love,
Ere it should shed its brighter glow above.
Which kindled gladness wheresoe'er it fell,—
The heart which beat so true, and loved so well.
It was our meed of bliss
To share awhile the sunlight of her love,
Ere it should shed its brighter glow above.
Heave not the anguished sigh
For her who calmly, meekly bowed her head,
Fearless, death's hope-illumined path to tread.
Lift ye the soul on high
In grateful praise for that last conquest-hour,
When death stood vanquished by Faith's mighty power.
For her who calmly, meekly bowed her head,
Fearless, death's hope-illumined path to tread.
Lift ye the soul on high
In grateful praise for that last conquest-hour,
When death stood vanquished by Faith's mighty power.
