Post Mortem.
A soul that had recently passed away,
Returned where his worn out body lay;
To the beautiful home with its softened light,
He came on a wild November night
And crape hung black on the door.
Returned where his worn out body lay;
To the beautiful home with its softened light,
He came on a wild November night
And crape hung black on the door.
Low sounds of passionate weeping came
From the room where lay his poor old frame,
Shrouded and sheeted. "Oh can it be
These signs of grief are for me-for me?"
And the crape swung black on the door.
From the room where lay his poor old frame,
Shrouded and sheeted. "Oh can it be
These signs of grief are for me-for me?"
And the crape swung black on the door.
She sobbed, she moaned, the stricken wife,
Who had nagged that sensitive soul through life;
He longed to clasp her in his arms;
Had he dreamed she eared, what radiant charms
Would life have held, but all is o'er;
Earth's pains and joys are for him no more,
For crape hangs black on the door.
Who had nagged that sensitive soul through life;
He longed to clasp her in his arms;
Had he dreamed she eared, what radiant charms
Would life have held, but all is o'er;
Earth's pains and joys are for him no more,
For crape hangs black on the door.
And Elenor, with her stately ways,
Who had kissed him but once since her baby days,
Whom he had never known to weep till now,
Rained kisses warm upon cheek and brow;
While crape hung black on the door.
Who had kissed him but once since her baby days,
Whom he had never known to weep till now,
Rained kisses warm upon cheek and brow;
While crape hung black on the door.
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