A FUNERAL HYMN.
Lay low the sleeper! let him be
Now buried out of sight;
This dust, O Earth! we give to thee,
’Tis thine undoubted right.
It came from thee; but not the soul—
The breath of Deity!
Insatiate Grave! thy dark control
Ends with mortality.
Ashes to ashes—dust to dust—
Lay low the silent form!
Though loved and cherish’d long, we must
Consign it to the worm.
Rest, brother, rest! thy work is done;
Thy spirit is not here;
The battle’s fought, the vict’ry won;
Where is the victor—where?
Behold! behold! the pearly gates
Of Heaven are opened wide!
What glorious rapture now awaits
The spirit glorified!
Weep on, ye mourners, as ye go,
But weep not for the dead!
Ye lay upon its pillow low
A weary, aching head.
Weep for yourselves, and weep for those
Earth’s thorny path who tread;
But not for those who thus repose—
No! weep not for the dead!
February 16, 1841.