The tears and anguish of the bed of death
A loving Father spared his closing eye—
The gentle murmuring waters sang his dirge;
The soft winds breathed a sigh.
Not far were ready hands and loving hearts—
His voice they heard not, nor his peril knew;
Alone God met him; and that solemn scene
Was veiled from human view.
O raise him gently from the wat'ry depths;
And gaze with reverence on that noble head
Stamped with the beauty of a lofty soul,
A spirit that is fled.
All lines of grief, all trace of human care
Death's kindly hand has smoothed from his brow;
And perfect peace alone and holy calm
Are seen there now.
Weep ye no more, sad mourners; let us cease
To wail the sudden stroke with idle breath;
Pure was his life; his soul seven times refined
And ripe for death.
With eyes that strove to pierce the veil of time
And view the Unseen, he ran his mortal race;
The veil is passed; with clearer vision now
He sees Him face to face.
Perhaps some coming grief, some sorrow dread
Or wasting sickness, fraught with heavy woe,
The All-seeing saw, and stretched His saving arm
To snatch him from the blow.
Weep not for him, but for ourselves bereft
Of a strong champion in this earthly strife;
A rock to which his weaker brethren clung
Amid the storms of life.
Weep not for him, but mourn for those young lives
Orphaned so soon of teacher and of guide;
The flock left shepherdless, their loved one's form
Torn quickly from their side.
Where, in the wide world, shall we find again
So wise a counsellor, a friend so true?
Nay, cease regrets, but let us up and strive,
As he has done, to do.