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Poems

By Henry Nutcombe Oxenham. Third Edition
  

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
LI. IN MEMORIAM C. H. C.


139

LI. IN MEMORIAM C. H. C.

Accept, dear friend, the tribute-note
Of this my last farewell,
While yet the echoes round me float
Of thy deep dying knell.
What though the heart be all on fire
With thoughts of other years,
Cold is the hand that sweeps the lyre,
The eye is dim with tears.
How many a word was left unsaid,
How much was unconfest!—
Can earthly memories vex the dead
In that far land of rest?
Nay, clearer than yon evening star,
With perfect radiance decked,
Blame cannot fret nor passion mar
The peace of God's elect.

140

But we are left to breast the wave,
When thou hast gained the shore;
To pass through sorrow to the grave,
When thou canst weep no more.
God grant our meeting, brother dear,
In that sweet home above,
Where they that chose His service here
Are guerdoned with His love!