Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Death of a Friend

by Lydia Huntley Sigourney

DEATH OF A FRIEND.

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It is not when the good obey
    The summons of their God,
And meekly take the narrow couch
    Beneath the burial sod,
That keenest anguish pours its wail,
    Despairing o'er their rest,
For praise should mingle with the pang
    That wrings the mourner's breast.

It is not when the saint departs,
    Whose wealth was hid on high,
That bitterest tears of grief should gush
    From sad bereavement's eye;
For in the consummation blest
    Of every wish and prayer,
He to his Father's courts ascends,
    And finds a mansion there.

But yet, oh friend, revered and blest,
    Who from our arms this day
Hast risen to gain thy perfect rest
    In realms of cloudless day,
Though faith reveals thee to our view
    From every sorrow free,
How shall we check the bursting tear
    That wildly flows for thee?

Self-sacrificing, upright, pure,
    Of feeble hope the guide,
With judgment clear, a soul subdued,
    And wealth without its pride,
The widow in her lowly cell
    Must long thy loss deplore,
The orphans wait thy step in vain,
    Thou com'st to them no more.

The path of duty and of zeal,
    Who now, like thee, shalt tread?
And deeply for ourselves we mourn
    That thou art of the dead.