ATTENTING A FORMER PUPIL TO THE GRAVE.
137
The "Dust to dust," that turns the cheek so pale
Of mourning love. Till the green turf is laid,
The last sad office of affection o'er,
I will not leave thee, sweetest. No, I'll wait
Till every lingerer hasteth to his home,
And then I'll breathe a prayer beside thy bed,
Thou, who so oft hast pour'd thy prayer with me.
I'll be the last to leave thee. O, be first
To welcome me above, if, through the trust
In my Redeemer's strength, I thither rise from dust.
