 | A Memorial of Joseph John Gurney |  |
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TO ELIZA P. GURNEY.
I
Think not, dear Friend, because my VerseHath rather led me to rehearse
The loss our Church has known;
That while I seek to pay Her debt,
I for one moment could forget
Bereavement like thine own!
II
But sorrow is a holy thing!And such a sanctity must cling
Around a grief like thine;
That I respect it far too much,
Lightly on such a theme to touch,
In these brief lines of mine.
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III
Yet while thy Husband's public worthGives to this feeble tribute birth,
As justly can I prize
Virtues as priceless, pure, and true,
Which their own peaceful halo threw
Round Home's dear sanctities!
IV
The genial smile, the gentle tone,The Christian kindness ever shewn
By him to each, and all,
At home—to inmate or to guest,
Put on their brightest and their best
Affection to enthral.
V
If there the spell of each seem o'er,If there they can delight no more,
So potent was their sway:
Cherish'd in memory still they live;
Nor can the soothing joy they give
With Death itself decay.
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VI
For the dark Grave but holds “in trust”The relics of the good and just;
The Graces these enshrined
Share not the frame's mortality;
Too heavenly and too pure to die,
They leave in living Memory
Their Monument behind!
| A Memorial of Joseph John Gurney | |