Classic Poem

To Minister and Mrs. Lincoln, on the death of their son A. Lincoln.

As o'er thy loved one now in grief ye bendeth,
 A Nation bows with thee, its sorrow lendeth,
That ye, grief-stricken should's not weep alone,
 Above the shrouded form of thy dear one.

But, as we shed with thee our silent tears,
 For him who bore himself beyond his years,
Hope bids us cease and banisheth our pain,
 And pleads your loss, his soul's eternal gain.

The reaper cuts the grain and lovely flowers,
 Transplants them in a fairer land than ours.
The path to heaven rendered thus more plain,
 Weep not, press on, ye all shall meet again.

He nobly lived nor feared the shad'wy vale,
 Defied the white horse with it's rider pale;
The grave no terror hath, and death no sting,
 For him who fully trusts in Christ the King.