Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/205



is not when the good obey The summons of their God, And meekly take the narrow couch Beneath the burial sod, That keenest anguish pours its wail, Despairing o'er their rest, For praise should mingle with the pang That wrings the mourner's breast.

It is not when the saint departs, Whose wealth was hid on high, That bitterest tears of grief should gush From sad bereavement's eye; For in the consummation blest Of every wish and prayer, He to his Father's courts ascends, And finds a mansion there.

But yet, oh friend, revered and blest, Who from our arms this day Hast risen to gain thy perfect rest In realms of cloudless day, Though faith reveals thee to our view From every sorrow free, How shall we check the bursting tear That wildly flows for thee?