 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
EVE, AT THE BURIAL OF ABEL
And this is death! the beamless eye—
The cold and faded brow:
I've seen our boy in slumber lie,
But oh! 'twas not as now.
For then his young lip wore a smile,
And health was on his cheek,
And bright and lovely all the while,
He seemed of joy to speak.
The cold and faded brow:
I've seen our boy in slumber lie,
But oh! 'twas not as now.
For then his young lip wore a smile,
And health was on his cheek,
And bright and lovely all the while,
He seemed of joy to speak.
He is not here—the soul hath sought
Its native home in Heaven;
And when or how it matters not,
That dust to dust is given!
Cold let the turf above him lie,
The flowers around him spring,
For even to a mother's eye
This sight no joy can bring.
Its native home in Heaven;
And when or how it matters not,
That dust to dust is given!
Cold let the turf above him lie,
The flowers around him spring,
For even to a mother's eye
This sight no joy can bring.
And let him 'neath his altar lie,
His joy in life was there;
'Tis hallowed by his memory,
And sanctified with prayer,
And when his fate shall be our own,
And earthly toil shall cease,
Beneath that consecrated stone,
May we, too, sleep in peace.
His joy in life was there;
'Tis hallowed by his memory,
And sanctified with prayer,
And when his fate shall be our own,
And earthly toil shall cease,
Beneath that consecrated stone,
May we, too, sleep in peace.
Stanzas 1, 7, 8 Haverhill Gazette, January 26, 1826
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |