Memoir and remains of the Rev. James D. Burns ... By the late Rev. James Hamilton [i.e. J. D. Burns] |
 |
TO FLORA. |
 | Memoir and remains of the Rev. James D. Burns |  |
219
TO FLORA.
Ah! fondly loved, while thou wert here,
Still fondly loved, lamented sore;
Thy memory to the heart is dear—
Dear till the heart can beat no more.
Still we behold thy gentle face,
Thy soft blue eyes, thy golden hair,
Thine image, in immortal grace,
For ever shining bright and fair.
Still fondly loved, lamented sore;
Thy memory to the heart is dear—
Dear till the heart can beat no more.
Still we behold thy gentle face,
Thy soft blue eyes, thy golden hair,
Thine image, in immortal grace,
For ever shining bright and fair.
The place where thy dear ashes sleep
Is far away beyond the wave;
No friend is near, no kindred keep
Their watch above thy lonely grave.
The sun may shine, the rain may fall,
The winds around thee make their moan,
But thou, the best beloved of all,
Art sleeping thy last sleep alone.
Is far away beyond the wave;
No friend is near, no kindred keep
Their watch above thy lonely grave.
The sun may shine, the rain may fall,
The winds around thee make their moan,
But thou, the best beloved of all,
Art sleeping thy last sleep alone.
Yet why should tears bedim our eyes?
Why should the heart with grief be riven?
'Tis but thy dust in dust that lies,
Thy spirit lives with Christ in heaven.
There thou, in spotless innocence,
Dost ever on His bosom lie,
A lily, early gather'd hence
To bloom in climes beyond the sky.
Why should the heart with grief be riven?
'Tis but thy dust in dust that lies,
Thy spirit lives with Christ in heaven.
There thou, in spotless innocence,
Dost ever on His bosom lie,
A lily, early gather'd hence
To bloom in climes beyond the sky.
Thou wert the sunshine of the home
Which is so dark without thee now;
But thou to God's own light art come,
And angel-lips have kiss'd thy brow.
Thy joyous voice once thrill'd the heart,
Like music's softest, sweetest tone,
Now hush'd on earth, it bears a part
In the high anthem round the throne.
Which is so dark without thee now;
But thou to God's own light art come,
And angel-lips have kiss'd thy brow.
Thy joyous voice once thrill'd the heart,
Like music's softest, sweetest tone,
Now hush'd on earth, it bears a part
In the high anthem round the throne.
220
From all the ills and griefs of time
Thou art for ever well away;
Thy home is in the cloudless clime,
While we in darkness wait for day.
And why should sorrow haunt us thus,
For one from sorrow ever free?
Sweet child, thou wouldst not come to us;
Oh, be it ours to go to thee!
Thou art for ever well away;
Thy home is in the cloudless clime,
While we in darkness wait for day.
And why should sorrow haunt us thus,
For one from sorrow ever free?
Sweet child, thou wouldst not come to us;
Oh, be it ours to go to thee!
1859.
| Memoir and remains of the Rev. James D. Burns | |