Page:Poems Eckley.djvu/112

Weep, mourners, weep,—aye, let your tears
 Drench, and drown the lonely bier,
Let surge of sorrow's wildest grief
 Bury this sad eventful year.

O God, my nation calls too late,
 But deign, O deign to hear that call;
Thou, who dost hear the ravens cry,
 Dost count each sparrow in its fall—

Look down in pity on Thy dust,
 Through Christ alone we call it Thine;
'Tis frail and sinful, but O God,
 Christ made this human dust Divine.

And while we mourn this vanish'd year,
 May sins of nations be forgiven,
Pity Thy dust Humanity,
 And draw us nearer to Thy Heaven.