 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
104
STANZAS.
“The early grave
Which men weep over, may be meant to save.”
Byron.
Which men weep over, may be meant to save.”
Byron.
Weep not for those
Who sink within the arms of death,
Ere yet the chilling wintry breath
Of sorrow o'er them blows;
But weep for them who here remain
The mournful heritors of pain,
Condemned to see each bright joy fade,
And mark grief's melancholy shade
Flung o'er hope's fairest rose.
Who sink within the arms of death,
Ere yet the chilling wintry breath
Of sorrow o'er them blows;
But weep for them who here remain
The mournful heritors of pain,
Condemned to see each bright joy fade,
And mark grief's melancholy shade
Flung o'er hope's fairest rose.
Nay, shed no tear
For those who soundly, sweetly sleep;
They heed not the cold blasts that sweep
Across their lowly bier;
But weep for those who see the cloud
Of misery youth's bright heaven enshroud,
And view the flowers that deck life's path
Fall dry and sear.
For those who soundly, sweetly sleep;
They heed not the cold blasts that sweep
Across their lowly bier;
But weep for those who see the cloud
Of misery youth's bright heaven enshroud,
And view the flowers that deck life's path
Fall dry and sear.
Dread not the tomb;
To those who feel that youth survives
The joys that youthful fancy gives,
It wears no face of gloom.
It is a quiet, peaceful home
For those who through life's desert roam—
A place for wearied ones to rest,
Where o'er the painful, care-worn breast
Spring flowers may bloom.
To those who feel that youth survives
The joys that youthful fancy gives,
It wears no face of gloom.
It is a quiet, peaceful home
For those who through life's desert roam—
105
Where o'er the painful, care-worn breast
Spring flowers may bloom.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |