XI.
’Tis hard to part. But if our dreadful loss
Be gain unspeakable to those we mourn,
How selfish ’tis to grieve! O, is it thus
We show our love? Besides, ye sad forlorn!
They are not lost who from your arms are torn,
They’ve only sooner reach’d their blissful rest!
’Tis sweet to end a wearisome sojourn,
And reach a wish’d-for home—and they are blest
Whose friends are safely housed where nothing can molest.