Classic Poem

PALM LEAVES to strew o'er our dead,
Trump notes to grace his last way.
Gems to bedeck the fair head,
Crowned for death's glory to-day;
Weep not midst triumphs like these,
Give him with joy to the tomb;
Wages of promise are his,
Soon shall he rise from its gloom.

Green live the deeds of our friend;
Sweet is his virtue's perfume;
Prayers from his soul did ascend,
Pure as the dewy-washed bloom;
Open his heart as the day,
Prompt to yield Heaven its due;
Strong to give virtue the sway,
Heart-warm his pity, and true.