Classic Poem

'Tis done, the dark decree is said
That called our friend away;
Submissive bow the sorrowing head,
And bend the lowly knee;
We will not ask why God has broke
Our Pillar on its stone,
But humbly yield us to the stroke,
And say, " His will be done. "

At last the weary head has sought
In earth its long repose;
And weeping freres have hither brought
Their chieftain to his close;
We held his hand, we filled his heart,
While heart and hand could move;
Nor will we from his grave depart,
But with the rites of love.

This grave shall be a garner, where
We'll heap our golden corn;
And here, in heart, we'll oft repair.
To think of him that's gone;
To speak of all he did and said,
That's wise, and good, and pure,
And covenant o'er the hopeful dead,
In vows that shall endure.

Oh, Brother, bright and loving frere ,
Oh, spirit free and pure,
Breathe us one gush of spirit air,
From off the heavenly shore,
And say, when these hard toils are done,
And the Grand M ASTER calls,
Is there for every wearied one
Place in the heavenly halls!