Classic Poem

And when the pulse of life shall throb no more
At His command, and its red currents freeze,
When silence comes, and busy day is o'er,
Monro would sleep beneath her whispering trees,
Where sing the birds, and hum the homeward bees,
And blush the flowers when Spring is passing by,
As notes unnumbered float upon the breeze,
And he will watch her from the upper sky,
And at eve's musing hour will sometimes near her fly.

Farewell! Farewell! A voice is in his ear,
That Time's fleet hour-glass is expending fast,
The glittering grains run faster year by year,
With soundless drop, and soon will fall the last.
O Thou, who through the gloomy grave hast past,
Send Thy good Spirit to renew our own!
May doubt and fear for ever be outcast,
And then uplift us to Thy glorious throne,
Where faith expands no more, and perfect love is known!

His task is ended, and he feels like one
Whose boat is rocking 'neath the island trees,
Where gorgeous birds are fluttering in the sun,
And harps ring sweetness on the sauntering breeze.
The hills and vales, where hum the honey bees,
Are those he laboured to discover long,
Sailing, hope-beckoned, over unknown seas,
Though fierce winds blew, and beat the billows strong.
Once more farewell! farewell! Thus closeth Monro's song.