 | The Poems of J. J. Callanan |  |
LINES ON A DECEASED CLERGYMAN.
Breathe not his honor'd name,
Silently keep it;
Hush'd be the sadd'ning theme,
In secrecy weep it;
Call not a warmer flow
To eyes that are aching;
Wake not a deeper throe
In hearts that are breaking.
Silently keep it;
Hush'd be the sadd'ning theme,
In secrecy weep it;
Call not a warmer flow
To eyes that are aching;
Wake not a deeper throe
In hearts that are breaking.
Oh 'tis a placid rest;
Who should deplore it?
Trance of the pure and blest—
Angels watch o'er it;
Sleep of his mortal night,
Sorrow can't break it?
Heaven's own morning light
Alone shall awake it.
Who should deplore it?
Trance of the pure and blest—
Angels watch o'er it;
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Sorrow can't break it?
Heaven's own morning light
Alone shall awake it.
Nobly thy course is run;
Splendour is round it;
Bravely thy fight is won;
Freedom hath crown'd it;
In the high warfare
Of heaven, grown hoary,
Thou'rt gone like the summer-sun,
Shrouded in glory.
Splendour is round it;
Bravely thy fight is won;
Freedom hath crown'd it;
In the high warfare
Of heaven, grown hoary,
Thou'rt gone like the summer-sun,
Shrouded in glory.
Twine,—twine the victor wreath,
Spirits that meet him;
Sweet songs of triumph breath,
Seraphs to greet him;
From his high resting place
Who shall him sever,
With his God—face to face,
Leave him for ever.
Spirits that meet him;
Sweet songs of triumph breath,
Seraphs to greet him;
From his high resting place
Who shall him sever,
With his God—face to face,
Leave him for ever.
| The Poems of J. J. Callanan | |