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1 While to the grave our friends are borne,
Around their cold remains
How all the tender passions mourn,
And each fond heart complains!
2 But down to earth, alas! in vain
We bend our weeping eyes,
Ah! let us leave these seats of pain,
And upwards learn to rise.
3 Hope cheerful smiles amid the gloom,
And beams a healing ray;
And guides us from the darksome tomb,
To realms of endless day.
4 To those bright courts when hope ascends,
She calms the swelling wo;
In hope we meet our happy friends,
And tears forget to flow.
5 Then let our hearts repine no more,
That earthly comfort dies;
But lasting happiness explore,
And ask it from the skies.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | While to the grave our friends are borne |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1845 |
Topic: | Consummation of Things: Death |