Lays for the Dead :: :: University of Virginia Library

The howling wind is arm'd with frost,
Which throws around its keenest darts;
Still, winter's cold in mirth is lost,
And pleasure fills unnumber'd hearts.

But there were those to whom that morn
Came with a joyless, withering breath;
And there was one to whom was borne
Thy summons dread, relentless death!

And one there was, on whom, that day,
Affliction's heaviest burden prest;
For in death's cold embrace he lay,
Whom she had longest lov'd and best.

Perchance when she that morning rose,
She winter saw with shuddering start;
But, little thought, ere noon should close,
To know the winter of the heart.

Sad, sudden stroke! no parting word
Could memory treasure! no farewell!
In one short moment, mute, o'erpower'd,
From her fond grasp her husband fell!

The gradual twilight of decay,
Prepar'd her not for such a sight,
But, like the equatorial day,
'T was cloudless noon, and then—'t was night.

Yet still athwart that mourner's gloom,
Some blessed beams of mercy broke;
And while she bent beneath her doom,
Her quivering lip of comfort spoke.

For gently down he sank in death,
While she, whom most he lov'd, was nigh;
And, ere he drew his parting breath,
On her had turn'd his closing eye.

'T was his last smile of grateful love!
O! thought, thanksgiving's voice to raise!
And as with grief religion strove,
The pious sufferer murmur'd praise!

And while the crowded streets along
Rejoicing reign'd that day, that night,
And numbers join'd in festive song,
Or hail'd the time with public rite;

Within that house of grief and gloom,
Where fondly wept, its master lay,
A christian summon'd to his doom,
And friends lamenting o'er his clay;

Then was the Saviour's influence felt,
The babe of Bethl'hem there ador'd—
For in the mourner's heart he dwelt,
Her refuge, rock, Redeemer, Lord!