All mourners, one with dying breath, Once more I came: the silent room And priz❜d for love of summer fled. O sooth us, haunt us, night and day, With whom we shar'd the cup of grace, Then parted; ye to Christ's embrace, BURIAL OF THE DEAD. And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. And He came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And He said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise. St. Luke vii. 13, 14. WHO says, the wan autumnal sun Beams with too faint a smile To light up nature's face again, And, though the year be on the wane, With thoughts of spring the heart beguile ? Waft him, thou soft September breeze, And gently lay him down Within some circling woodland wall, Where bright leaves, reddening ere they fall, And let some graceful arch be there With burnish'd ivy for its screen, Who says the widow's heart must break, A kinder truer voice I hear, Which even beside that mournful bier Whence parents' eyes would hopeless shrink, Bids weep no more—O heart bereft, A widow o'er her only son, For friends that press officious round. Yet is the voice of comfort heard, The swelling bosom dares not sigh, Even such an awful soothing calm On Christian mourners, while they wait And such the tones of love, which break Quelling th' embitter'd spirit's strife- "Am I believe, and die no more.". Unchang'd that voice-and though not yet Our darlings on earth's quiet breast, And our hearts feel they must not break. Far better they should sleep awhile Within the church's shade, Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth, Meet for their new immortal birth For their abiding place be made, Than wander back to life, and lean Ꮓ 'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose Friends out of sight, in faith to muse How grows in Paradise our store. Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on, Then cheerly to your work again Over the grave their Lord have met. |