The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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Bury Me with my Fathers.—Andrews Norton.
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 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
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Bury Me with my Fathers.—Andrews Norton.
O ne'er upon my grave be shed
The bitter tears of sinking age,
That mourns its cherished comforts dead,
With grief no human hopes assuage.
The bitter tears of sinking age,
That mourns its cherished comforts dead,
With grief no human hopes assuage.
When, through the still and gazing street,
My funeral winds its sad array,
Ne'er may a father's faltering feet
Lead, with slow steps, the churchyard way.
My funeral winds its sad array,
Ne'er may a father's faltering feet
Lead, with slow steps, the churchyard way.
'Tis a dread sight—the sunken eye,
The look of calm and fixed despair,
And the pale lips that breathe no sigh,
But quiver with th' unuttered prayer.
The look of calm and fixed despair,
And the pale lips that breathe no sigh,
But quiver with th' unuttered prayer.
Ne'er may a mother hide her tears,
As the mute circle spreads around,
Or, turning from my grave, she hears
The clod fall fast with heavy sound.
As the mute circle spreads around,
Or, turning from my grave, she hears
The clod fall fast with heavy sound.
Ne'er may she know the sinking heart,
The dreary loneliness of grief,
When all is o'er, when all depart,
And cease to yield their sad relief;
The dreary loneliness of grief,
When all is o'er, when all depart,
And cease to yield their sad relief;
Nor, entering in my vacant room,
Feel, in its chill and heavy air,
As if the dampness of the tomb
And spirits of the dead were there.
Feel, in its chill and heavy air,
As if the dampness of the tomb
And spirits of the dead were there.
O welcome, though with care and pain,
The power to glad a parent's heart;
To bid a parent's joys remain,
And life's approaching ills depart.
The power to glad a parent's heart;
To bid a parent's joys remain,
And life's approaching ills depart.
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