The body in its mother clay.
Ten priests in tears read obsequies;
The grave is closed ’mid deafening cries,
And there, that honest, loving heart
Ere long, of dust will form a part.
The sod is laid, the poor remain,
And loudly call his name—in vain.
Some recollect when at his door
At midnight hour they called before.
Some recollect the pressing hurry