Classic Poem

Droops thy bough, oh Cedar tree,
Like yon dear, yon aged form,—
Droops thy bough in sympathy,
For the wreck of life's sad storm!
Sad, indeed, his weary age,—
Lonely, now, his princely home,—
And the thoughts his soul engage,
Are of winter and the tomb!

'Twas for this, oh Cedar tree,
Verdant midst the wintry strife,
'Twas for this he planted thee,
Type of an immortal life,—
That when round his grave in tears
Brothers in their Art combine,
From the store thy foliage bears
Each may cast a portion in!

Lo! he comes, oh Cedar tree,
Slowly o'er the frosted plain;
Pauses here the signs to see,
Graven with a mystic pen;
How does each some hope express!
Lighter gleams the wintry sky,
Lighter on his furrowed face
Smiling at the mystery!

Soon to rest, oh Cedar tree,
Soon the veteran shall be borne,
There to sleep, and patiently
Wait the resurrection morn.
Thou shalt perish from the earth;
He in sacred youth revive,
Glorious in a better birth,—
Truths like these the emblems give.