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The cold, cold moon above her head,
He went complaining all the morrow
'T was all in vain, a useless matter,
No word to any man he utters,
WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF
This Stone is sacred. Here he lies apart
bread, To the strict labors of the merchant's desk By duty chained. Not seldom did those tasks Tease, and the thought of time so spent depress, His spirit, but the recompense was high ; Firm Independence, Bounty's rightful sire; Affections, warm as sunshine, free as air ; And when the precious hours of leisure came, Knowledge and wisdom, gained from converse sweet With books, or while he ranged the crowded streets With a keen eye, and overflowing heart: So genius triumphed over seeming wrong, And poured out truth in works by thoughtful love Inspired-works potent over smiles and tears. And as round mountain-tops the lightning plays, Thus innocently sported, breaking forth As from a cloud of some grave sympathy, Humor and wild instinctive wit, and all The vivid flashes of his spoken words. From the most gentle creature nursed in fields Had been derived the name he bore—a name Wherever Christian altars have been raised, Hallowed to meekness and to innocence; And if in him meekness at times gave way, Provoked out of herself by troubles strange, Many and strange, that hung about his life; Still, at the centre of his being, lodged
A squl by resignation sanctified ;
From a reflecting mind and sorrowing heart
Thou wert a scorner of the fields, my Friend, But more in show than truth; and from the fields, And from the mountains, to thy rural grave Transported, my soothed spirit hovers o'er Its green untrodden turf, and blowing flowers; And taking up a voice shall speak (though still Awed by the theme's peculiar sanctity Which words less free presumed not even to touch) Of that fraternal love, whose heaven-lit lamp From infancy, through manhood, to the last Of threescore years, and to thy latest hour, Burnt on with ever-strengthening light, enshrined Within thy bosom.
“ Wonderful” hath been The love established between man and man,
Passing the love of women ;” and between Man and his help-mate in fast wedlock joined Through God, is raised a spirit and soul of love Without whose blissful influence Paradise Had been no Paradise; and earth were now A waste where creatures bearing human form, Direst of savage beasts, would roam in fear, Joyless and comfortless. Our days glide on; And let him grieve who cannot choose but grieve That he hath been an elm without his Vine, And her bright dower of clustering charities That, round his trunk and branches, might have
clung Enriching and adorning. Unto thee, Not so enriched, not so adorned, to thee Was given (say rather thou of later birth Wert given to her) a Sister-'t is a word Timidly uttered, for she lives, the meek, The self-restraining, and the ever-kind; In whom thy reason and intelligent heart Found-for all interests, hopes, and tender cares, All softening, humanizing, hallowing powers Whether withheld, or for her sake unsoughtMore than sufficient recompense !
Her love (What weakness prompts the voice to tell it here ?) Was as the love of mothers ; and when years, Lifting the boy to man's estate, had called The long-protected to assume the part Of a protector, the first filial tie Was undissolved; and, in or out of sight, Remained-imperishably interwoven
With life itself. Thus, 'mid a shifting world,
But turn we rather, let my spirit turn
O gift divine of quiet sequestration !