When the pale wreath is laid upon the tomb,
Love's last fond homage offered to the dead,
And the bereft, with tears and drooping head,
Bid mute farewell on sadly turning home,
Sister and brother, widowed love and friend,
Review, as in a solemn vision then,
Their dear one's life, its bliss and bitter pain,
Its restless hopes now ever at an end.
The common thought lifts them above despair,
One brief thanksgiving is on every tongue:
That faithful heart shall never more be wrung
With cold unkindness or with aching care;
That generous mind no stern rebuffs shall vex;
That busy brain no problems dire perplex.
