in memory of henry s. craig.
145
Yes, they will miss thee, unto whom belong
The ever dear remembrance of thy worth—
They will lament thee, when the heartless throng
Have quite forgotten thou wert once of earth;
At morning's prime, at daylight's dewy close,
When Summer flings her bloom on field and tree;
When Autumn's hand her gorgeous livery throws
O'er hill and forest, they will dream of thee.
In the lone midnight, when the world is still,
How will thine image each sad bosom thrill.
The ever dear remembrance of thy worth—
They will lament thee, when the heartless throng
Have quite forgotten thou wert once of earth;
At morning's prime, at daylight's dewy close,
When Summer flings her bloom on field and tree;
When Autumn's hand her gorgeous livery throws
O'er hill and forest, they will dream of thee.
In the lone midnight, when the world is still,
How will thine image each sad bosom thrill.
Heart-stricken mourners! mother, widowed wife!
And ye, fond sisters, still your tears restrain;
"He is not dead but sleepeth"—in the life
Beyond, immortal, ye shall meet again:
Press on, press on, to that eternal shore,
Where the tossed barque at last in safety moors;
Godto your arms the lost one will restore,
And love, celestial love, be ever yours.
Then turn from earth, with its o'ershadowing care,
And fix your hearts in heaven, for he is there.
And ye, fond sisters, still your tears restrain;
"He is not dead but sleepeth"—in the life
Beyond, immortal, ye shall meet again:
Press on, press on, to that eternal shore,
Where the tossed barque at last in safety moors;
Godto your arms the lost one will restore,
And love, celestial love, be ever yours.
Then turn from earth, with its o'ershadowing care,
And fix your hearts in heaven, for he is there.
