Where, Hope! thy visions bright with golden gleams?
Friendship, thy prospects?—Fame, thy laureate wreath?
All past——all faded in the shades of Death.
’Tis past—the sigh is breath’d, the tear is shed,
The last sad tribute to a brother dead.—
Our loss demands—receives the mournful strain:
Let sounds of triumph celebrate his gain.
the Spirit, starting from its bonds of clay,
Traces with Angel guides the lucid way;
Exalted notes from harps celestial rise,