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FUNERAL DAY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.
Watching in breathless awe,
The bright head bow'd we saw,
Beneath thy hand!
Fill'd by one hope, one fear,
Now o'er a brother's bier,
Weeping we stand.
How hath he pass'd!—the lord
Of each deep bosom chord,
To meet thy sight,
Unmantled and alone,
On thy blest mercy thrown,
O Infinite!
So, from his harvest home,
Must the tir'd peasant come;
So, in one trust,
Leader and king must yield
The naked soul, reveal'd
To thee, All Just!
