 | Rhymes with reason and without |  |
215
THE PRINTER'S SORROWS ENDED.
ON THE DEATH OF S. J. BELCHER, PRINTER.
When the summer beamed in its beauty,
That season of joy and mirth,
The cold, cold hand of sickness
Was laid on a child of earth:
A nobler spirit ne'er blest a friend,
Or gladdened a household hearth.
That season of joy and mirth,
The cold, cold hand of sickness
Was laid on a child of earth:
A nobler spirit ne'er blest a friend,
Or gladdened a household hearth.
The fair seasons waned and faded,
The dreary winter came,
And day by day saw pale away
His life's dull, glimmering flame;
Saw, too, expire the cherished hopes
Of friends in deed and name.
The dreary winter came,
And day by day saw pale away
His life's dull, glimmering flame;
Saw, too, expire the cherished hopes
Of friends in deed and name.
Faithfully they watched beside him;
His eye so brightly beamed
With the fire of old intelligence,
So hopefully it gleamed,
The approach of the dread Destroyer
Far off they fondly deemed.
His eye so brightly beamed
With the fire of old intelligence,
So hopefully it gleamed,
The approach of the dread Destroyer
Far off they fondly deemed.
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But his step in the silent chamber
Was soon too plainly known,
And the object of a thousand loves
Was claimed as his alone;
The pulse was stilled, and the eye was closed
Of late so bright that shone.
Was soon too plainly known,
And the object of a thousand loves
Was claimed as his alone;
The pulse was stilled, and the eye was closed
Of late so bright that shone.
Then friends met round the unheeding clay,
With sorrow, to bid adieu
To the loved one, to be laid away
Forever from their view;
And many a heart beat wofully
For the loss of a friend so true.
With sorrow, to bid adieu
To the loved one, to be laid away
Forever from their view;
And many a heart beat wofully
For the loss of a friend so true.
And many a tear from woman's eyes
Fell warm for the early dead,
Who, far from his home, in a stranger land,
Had bowed to doom his head;
They had ministered to him hopefully,
Till every hope had fled;
Fell warm for the early dead,
Who, far from his home, in a stranger land,
Had bowed to doom his head;
They had ministered to him hopefully,
Till every hope had fled;
Bending o'er him at midnight deep,
And again in the day's broad light,
Tenderly, most tenderly, marking
The approach of his mortal night,
And smoothing his path to its portals dark,
As woman only might.
And again in the day's broad light,
Tenderly, most tenderly, marking
The approach of his mortal night,
And smoothing his path to its portals dark,
As woman only might.
The cold snow crisped beneath our tread
As we bore his form away,
In the dreary chambers of the grave
To moulder to decay,
To be known no more, save in memory,
Till the resurrection day.
As we bore his form away,
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To moulder to decay,
To be known no more, save in memory,
Till the resurrection day.
And many a snow and rain shall beat
O'er his unconscious dust,
But the eye of faith rises upward
On the pinions of its trust,
And sees the enfranchised spirit
In its home amid the just.
O'er his unconscious dust,
But the eye of faith rises upward
On the pinions of its trust,
And sees the enfranchised spirit
In its home amid the just.
| Rhymes with reason and without | |