“No, my dear. The house of God is no place for corrupting human bodies.”
The bier was set down on the uppermost of the first steps; two men with gilded staves drew aside the curtains of the portal, and the lights and the Throne shone out on the mourning and the mourned. A few prayers were said; and then, led by the chimes, they all sang.
Tacita knew enough of the language now to follow the sense of their simple and brief appeal.
“Thou who didst mourn the friend that silent lay
In the dark tomb, behold our eyes that weep
A lifeless form that loved us yesterday.
Mourning, we lay its silence at thy feet,—
Thou who didst weep!
“Help of the sorrowful! Help us to say
Of this dear treasure which we may not keep,