Classic Poem

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MR. JOHN WHITELAW, WHO DIED DECEMBER 3, 1863.

Once dear companion of my early youth,
The heart of feeling and the soul of truth
In thee were joined, and still thy youthful mind
Was given to learning, and could quickly find
Apt illustrations of scholastic terms.
But labour's foot trod rudely on the germs
Of genius, and made thee, through life's turmoil,
Beg of a lordly brother leave to toil;
And toil was thine, and thine was love and song,
And down the vale of life they danced along
Beside thy path, and cheered thee on thy way.
Thy toil is o'er, and they are mute for aye.
Oh, not for aye! we hope thou now dost raise,
In high adoring strains, thy Saviour's praise,
And join'st the heavenly choir's ecstatic song
That rolls the eternal symphonies along.
" Rest, weary one, " upon thy marble brow
No cloud of care or grief is lingering now;
" After life's fitful fever thou sleepest well; "
Peace to thy ashes, peace; dear friend, farewell!