The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
162
THE FUNERAL HYMN.
Where the long reeds quiver,
Where the pines make moan,
By the forest river,
Sleeps our babe alone.
England's field flowers may not deck his grave,
Cypress shadows o'er him darkly wave.
Where the pines make moan,
By the forest river,
Sleeps our babe alone.
England's field flowers may not deck his grave,
Cypress shadows o'er him darkly wave.
Woods unknown receive him,
'Midst the mighty wild;
Yet with God we leave him,
Blessed, blessed child!
And our tears gush o'er his lovely dust,
Mournfully, yet still from hearts of trust.
'Midst the mighty wild;
Yet with God we leave him,
Blessed, blessed child!
And our tears gush o'er his lovely dust,
Mournfully, yet still from hearts of trust.
Though his eye hath brighten'd
Oft our weary way,
And his clear laugh lighten'd
Half our hearts' dismay;
Still in hope we give back what was given,
Yielding up the beautiful to Heaven.
Oft our weary way,
And his clear laugh lighten'd
Half our hearts' dismay;
Still in hope we give back what was given,
Yielding up the beautiful to Heaven.
And to her who bore him,
Her who long must weep,
Yet shall Heaven restore him
From his pale, sweet sleep!
Those blue eyes of love and peace again
Through her soul will shine, undimm'd by pain.
Her who long must weep,
Yet shall Heaven restore him
From his pale, sweet sleep!
Those blue eyes of love and peace again
Through her soul will shine, undimm'd by pain.
Where the long reeds quiver,
Where the pines make moan,
Leave we by the river
Earth to earth alone!
God and Father! may our journeyings on
Lead to where the blessed boy is gone!
Where the pines make moan,
163
Earth to earth alone!
God and Father! may our journeyings on
Lead to where the blessed boy is gone!
From the exile's sorrow,
From the wanderer's dread
Of the night and morrow,
Early, brightly fled;
Thou hast call'd him to a sweeter home
Than our lost one o'er the ocean's foam.
From the wanderer's dread
Of the night and morrow,
Early, brightly fled;
Thou hast call'd him to a sweeter home
Than our lost one o'er the ocean's foam.
Now let thought behold him
With his angel look,
Where those arms enfold him,
Which benignly took
Israel's babes to their Good Shepherd's breast,
When his voice their tender meekness blest.
With his angel look,
Where those arms enfold him,
Which benignly took
Israel's babes to their Good Shepherd's breast,
When his voice their tender meekness blest.
Turn thee now, fond mother!
From thy dead, oh, turn!
Linger not, young brother,
Here to dream and mourn:
Only kneel once more around the sod,
Kneel, and bow submitted hearts to God!
From thy dead, oh, turn!
Linger not, young brother,
Here to dream and mourn:
Only kneel once more around the sod,
Kneel, and bow submitted hearts to God!
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |