 | Zinzendorff, and other poems |  |
DEATH OF A SON OF THE LATE HONORABLE FISHER AMES.
'Tis o'er. The bolt that rends the sky
And rives the lordly tree,
Doth scarcely work so strange a deed
As Death hath done for thee:
And so we lay thee in the tomb,
Son of a patriot line,
Let not majestic manhood boast
Who sees a grave like thine.
And rives the lordly tree,
Doth scarcely work so strange a deed
As Death hath done for thee:
And so we lay thee in the tomb,
Son of a patriot line,
Let not majestic manhood boast
Who sees a grave like thine.
And She is there, that honor'd form
O'er whom thy filial care,
Did shed such hallow'd charm as made
Life's lonely winter fair;
That mother mourns, whose hand so oft
Within this funeral shade,
Hath with a meek, unchanging trust
Her cherish'd idols laid.
O'er whom thy filial care,
Did shed such hallow'd charm as made
Life's lonely winter fair;
That mother mourns, whose hand so oft
Within this funeral shade,
Hath with a meek, unchanging trust
Her cherish'd idols laid.
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We go the way their steps have trod,
From love's forsaken bowers:
Their simple shroud, their narrow house,
Their lowly bed are ours;
And in those mansions of the soul
Where tear was never shed,
Doubt not there yet is room for us,
For so the Saviour said.
From love's forsaken bowers:
Their simple shroud, their narrow house,
Their lowly bed are ours;
And in those mansions of the soul
Where tear was never shed,
Doubt not there yet is room for us,
For so the Saviour said.
Oh could we cheerfully to God
Yield back the friends he gave,
Or with such tear as Jesus shed
Bedew their peaceful grave,
How pure from the Refiner's hand
The spirit's gold would rise,
And Faith from transient sorrow gain
New fitness for the skies.
Yield back the friends he gave,
Or with such tear as Jesus shed
Bedew their peaceful grave,
How pure from the Refiner's hand
The spirit's gold would rise,
And Faith from transient sorrow gain
New fitness for the skies.
| Zinzendorff, and other poems | |