Messengers to the Dead.
Friends who even now are weeping
’Round the one you love so well,
Know that sound of human sorrow
Cannot break Death’s mighty spell.
Cease to weep, thy bitter wailing
Falls upon a deafened ear,
Tears and sobs are unavailing,
He is dead, he cannot hear.
From a friend who knew and loved him
Since his earliest childhood’s hour,
And who shares your bitter heart ache
Comes this offering of flowers.
Let their beauty light the shadows
Death has brought around his bed,
Breathing forth their subtle incense,
Messengers unto the dead.
Lay them on his pulseless bosom,
Clasp them in his pale, cold hand,
As they breathe their silent message
He will know and understand;
For, their breath is far more subtle
Than the power of human speech,
And can penetrate his senses
Where our voices cannot reach.
