COFFIN FLOWERS.
And doth Saint Peter ope the gates
Of heaven to such a toll?
Or do you think this show of flowers
Will deck my naked soul?
Perhaps you wish the folks to know
How much you can afford;
And prove upon my coffin-lid
You don’t “let out,” nor board.
Oh! cast an humble flower or two
Upon my funeral bier;
And drop upon my lifeless form
One true, love-speaking tear.
But take away these shop-made things,
They mock my sighs and groans;
And soon, like me, will rot, and show
Their framework, like my bones.
God only asks if my poor soul
A wedding garment wears.
A bridal wreath? Yes, make it up
Of flowers. God’s flowers are prayers!