Classic Poem

Softly the sunset of the sabbath passed,
The western glory faded into night;
And, with the parting hours of holy time,
A Christian spirit took its upward flight.

Her years on earth were many, and those years
All filled with usefulness and holy love:
Sorrow had disciplined her soul for heaven,
And trials fitted her for rest above.

Shall we in sackcloth mourn when such depart,
Free spirits, like fair, uncaged birds, to soar
Far up and on toward wisdom infinite,
'Mid glories mortal minds may not explore?

Oh, no! we'll lift on high a triumph song:
For, jubilate! all her griefs are o'er.
Loved ones are left, but oh! she greeteth now
The loved and wept-for who had gone before.

Death hath removed each dark veil from her eye,
And radiant spirits walk with her in white:
No sea in heaven shrouds beloved forms,
No sorrow there, no weary, gloomy night.

Strike, strike your harps! sing loud, ye angel choir,
And welcome gladly this companion new, —
New in the courts of heaven, youth-renewed,
But long ago, it may be, known to you.

The saint, ascending to his own " sweet home, "
Claims from no sorrowing hearts a tear or sigh:
We mourn for those who tread earth's pathway still,
But not for saints triumphant called to die.

Peace to the weary dust whose pain is o'er!
Joy to the spirit whose long race is run!
God comfort those who wait the summons home,
Hoping to meet her when their work is done!