Of rich experience, or some timid child
In tender meekness deck thy pencil'd vase.
And as the Gleaner from the fruitful fields
Of Boaz, gathering where the reapers strew'd,
Came to her Mother at the close of day
With welcome store and brightly glowing smile,
So bring thy gifts to Memory's treasure-shrine.
DEATH OF A SON OF THE LATE HONORABLE FISHER AMES.
'Tis o'er. The bolt that rends the sky
And rives the lordly tree,
Doth scarcely work so strange a deed
As Death hath done for thee:
And so we lay thee in the tomb,
Son of a patriot line,
Let not majestic manhood boast
Who sees a grave like thine.
And She is there, that honor'd form
O'er whom thy filial care,
Did shed such hallow'd charm as made
Life's lonely winter fair;
That mother mourns, whose hand so oft
Within this funeral shade,
Hath with a meek, unchanging trust
Her cherish'd idols laid.
