Lines
Written on the Death of Lorenzo D. Upham.
Lamented youth, thy spirit now has fled,
Thy youthful form in earth’s cold bosom lies.
Why art thou numbered with the early dead?
Who would not weep when one so lovely dies?
Why wert thou thus cut down in manhood’s bloom,
When life to thee was all a summer’s day,
Consigned unto the dark and silent tomb,
Nought but a lump of cold and lifeless clay?
And oft the mourner there doth go and weep,
And youthful friends shed many a bitter tear
For him who lies in his last, dreamless sleep,
For him they loved and ever held most dear.
We miss thee, brother, in our youthful band,
Thy words of love, thy gentle accents sweet;
But thou hast left us in this dreary land,
No more shall we thy social presence greet.
Thou wast a noble youth, the younger son,
Thy father’s hope and solace in his years;
But short thy stay; ah! soon life’s labor done,
Soon thou hast left a weary vale of tears.
Yes; thou hast left a world of care and toil,
Where storms and tempests o’er our pathway rise,
Calmly to sleep beneath the verdant soil,
Till called triumphant to the upper skies.
Then rest thee, brother, free from all thy pain,
Above thee bloom the rose and violet fair.
We would not wish thee back to earth again,
But let thee calmly, sweetly, slumber there.