Lines On The Late Mr. Thomas Craven.
Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust—
The friend we had but yesterday;
His spirit to the unknown land
Hath fled away.
Ah! death’s strong key hath turned the lock,
And closed again its ponderous door,
That ne’er for him shall ope again—
Ah, nevermore!
Now pity swells the tide of love,
And rolls through all our bosoms deep,
For we have lost a friend indeed;
And thus we weep.
. . . . . . .
’Twas his to learn in Nature’s school
To love his fellow-creatures dear;
His bounty fed the starving poor
From year to year.
But thou, pale moon, unclouded beam,
And O! ye stars, shine doubly bright,
And light him safe across the lake
To endless light!
The friend we had but yesterday;
His spirit to the unknown land
Hath fled away.
Ah! death’s strong key hath turned the lock,
And closed again its ponderous door,
That ne’er for him shall ope again—
Ah, nevermore!
Now pity swells the tide of love,
And rolls through all our bosoms deep,
For we have lost a friend indeed;
And thus we weep.
. . . . . . .
’Twas his to learn in Nature’s school
To love his fellow-creatures dear;
His bounty fed the starving poor
From year to year.
But thou, pale moon, unclouded beam,
And O! ye stars, shine doubly bright,
And light him safe across the lake
To endless light!
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