108
elegiac.
Why should we mourn thee?
In thy bright abode
Pain is unknown, and sorrow hath no place,
The heritage alone of those who trace
Life's thorny road.
'Tis for ourselves we weep,
Poor earth-bound prisoners still,
On our toilsome way and steep,
With our load of care and ill;
But for thee, sweet songstress, thee!
Be our purest praises given,
Like the captive bird made free;
Like the exile, joyously,
Thou hast gained thy home in heaven,
And thine earthly lyre,
Though quenched its fire,
Will echo again, 'mid the angel choir.
In thy bright abode
Pain is unknown, and sorrow hath no place,
The heritage alone of those who trace
Life's thorny road.
'Tis for ourselves we weep,
Poor earth-bound prisoners still,
On our toilsome way and steep,
With our load of care and ill;
But for thee, sweet songstress, thee!
Be our purest praises given,
Like the captive bird made free;
Like the exile, joyously,
Thou hast gained thy home in heaven,
And thine earthly lyre,
Though quenched its fire,
Will echo again, 'mid the angel choir.
