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on the death of a beloved nephew.
On the Death of a beloved Nephew.
Soul of the dead!
Whither, oh whither, hast thou fled?
Hast winged thy flight
To fairer realms of life and light?
Or art thou still
Lingering, by the Almighty's will,
On this sad earth,
Where thy poor mortal frame had birth?
And dost thou roam
About the precincts of thy southern home,
Beyond the seas,
In the far-off Antipodes?
Whither, oh whither, hast thou fled?
Hast winged thy flight
To fairer realms of life and light?
Or art thou still
Lingering, by the Almighty's will,
On this sad earth,
Where thy poor mortal frame had birth?
And dost thou roam
About the precincts of thy southern home,
Beyond the seas,
In the far-off Antipodes?
Soul of the dead!
Thy young form lies in the Ocean bed;
And one most dear,
Unconscious of the sorrow drawing near,
Awaits with joy
Tidings of the home-coming of her boy,
But waits in vain;
She will not hear his merry voice again,
Nor will she see
The bright young face she loved so tenderly,
Till Death's kind hand
Shall lead her to thee in the "Better Land."
Thy young form lies in the Ocean bed;
And one most dear,
Unconscious of the sorrow drawing near,
Awaits with joy
Tidings of the home-coming of her boy,
But waits in vain;
She will not hear his merry voice again,
Nor will she see
The bright young face she loved so tenderly,
Till Death's kind hand
Shall lead her to thee in the "Better Land."
