ON WITNESSING THE FUNERAL OF THE LATE JONAS CHICKERING.
WHAT solemn funeral train is this,
With muffled notes of woe?
Ye mourners, lift your heads and kiss
The rod that caused the blow.
With muffled notes of woe?
Ye mourners, lift your heads and kiss
The rod that caused the blow.
The gifts of music all divine,
To him so largely given,
And gifts of charity sublime,
Will echo back to heaven.
To him so largely given,
And gifts of charity sublime,
Will echo back to heaven.
He finished well his course in life,
He dried the orphans' tears,—
'Tis fitting now that they should cast
Sweet flowers around his bier.
He dried the orphans' tears,—
'Tis fitting now that they should cast
Sweet flowers around his bier.
Weep not, New England, for thy son,
Who for the tomb is drest,—
He fought the fight, the crown he's won,
And wears it with the blest.
Who for the tomb is drest,—
He fought the fight, the crown he's won,
And wears it with the blest.
