 | Thought and word |  |
73
THE FUNERAL
Say not we “bury him;” nor talk
Of “sleeping in the tomb.”
With foolish words the soul we baulk,
And shut it round with gloom.
Of “sleeping in the tomb.”
With foolish words the soul we baulk,
And shut it round with gloom.
The mystic form whereby we knew
Our parent once, or friend,
Let this, indeed, have reverence due
For life's sake, tho' at end.
Our parent once, or friend,
Let this, indeed, have reverence due
For life's sake, tho' at end.
But this no more is man at all,
Mere water now and clay,
Fit to be purged by fire, or fall
Apart in slow decay.
Mere water now and clay,
Fit to be purged by fire, or fall
Apart in slow decay.
Life—Death—are hieroglyphics writ,
By one mysterious hand,
Their meaning passes all our wit,
We may not understand.
By one mysterious hand,
Their meaning passes all our wit,
We may not understand.
Forget men's timid vain pretence,
Forget their babbling speech;
Trust to thy Spirit's highest sense
The truest faith to reach.
Forget their babbling speech;
Trust to thy Spirit's highest sense
The truest faith to reach.
| Thought and word | |