For sorrow comes of Death,
And with a yearning heart we linger on,
When they, whose glance unlock’d its founts, are gone!
But glory from the dust,
And praise to Him, the merciful, for those
On whose bright memory love may still repose
With an immortal trust!
Praise for the dead, who leave us, when they part,
Such hope as she hath left—“the pure in heart!”
1823.