The coffin lay ’mid garlands, smiling sad as if they knew us;
The patient face within it preached a final sermon to us;
Our parson had gone touring—on a trip he’d long been earning—
In that wonderland, whence tickets are not issued for returning!
O tender, good heart-shepherd! your sweet smiling lips, half-parted,
Told of scenery that burst on you, just the minute that you started!
Could you preach once more among us, you might wander, without fearing;
You could give us tales of glory that we’d never tire of hearing!
Will Carleton.