142
IN MEMORY OF HENRY S. CRAIG[1]
The fair earth looketh dim—the golden sun
Gleams not, methinks, so brightly as of yore,
And each familiar thing he looks upon,
With a strange gloom is darkly shadowed o'er:
But nature is not changedȔunto our eyes
Alone she seemeth sad, for thou art gone,
Whose smile was sunshine for our wintry skies,
Whose words were music, and whose gentle tone
Of love or kindness, came upon the ear
Like the pure gushing of a fountain clear.
- ↑ Beloved and respected by all who knew him, perished in the burning of the steamboat Lexington, 13th January, 1840. The above lines were written at the time, but never before published.
