Classic Poem

When nature has paid her last debt,
And earth claims her lendings again,
When soul has no more a regret,
And body no longer a pain;
Above the dark grave as we bend,
And cast the cold turf o'er his head,
We feel that this is not our friend ,
It is not our brother that's dead.

We feel there is something that lives;
The dust could but cover its dust;
Fond memory faithful retrieves
The treasure we placed in her trust.
She rescues our friend from the gloom
That nature flings over his rest;
She draws him with strength from the tomb,
And makes him eternally blest.

He lives in each comforting word
Once whispered in misery's ear;
He lives in each bounty conferred
That lightened a sigh or a tear;
He lives in those counsels so wise,
That point to the heavenly track,
A wisdom that comes from the skies
To guide all its votaries back.

His spirit still meets with us where
In mystic seclusion we group;
Our emblems forever will bear
The perfect impress of his hope;
His column is broken in twain,
Yet none will our brother forget,
Though earth claims her lendings again,
And nature has paid her last debt.