Classic Poem

Mourn not them whose stars have set,
While the light is with us yet;
While remembered words are dear,
While their spirits meet us here.

Though the blast shake down the fruit,
Though the leaves drop on the root,
When the death-wind withering blows,
Still the great tree, broadening, grows,

Nothing done is done in vain,
Words and deeds alike remain;
Memories soft and sad become
Angels luring us to home.

Humblest men do mightier things
Often than the sceptered kings;
Roughest paths, by Virtue trod,
Lead the nearest way to God.

Living men are heavenward led
By the errors of the Dead;
Murmur not, but work and pray;
Death is Heaven's dawn of day.