And bear the blessed fruits of holiness.
Yes—with unfalt’ring voice the mourner sang,
While others gazed in pure astonishment,
And thought ’twas “passing strange.”
The music ceas’d,
And all prepared to follow to the grave
Him who had won their hearts. The twilight hour
Was beautiful indeed. The setting sun
Linger’d awhile upon his ruddy throne
Of burnish’d clouds, ere he sank down to rest,