Had we not met, the brooding woe And all the griefs that greater grow, Might not have been, and happy-wise Our lives have laughed with lullabies And quaffed such joys as few may know. ...
He sleeps at last! The vales of rest Are waiting for the war-worn breast, And glorious angels fondly spread The sweetest roses for his bed. While countless millions call him blest. ...
When man from pure perfection fell, And bathed his life in grief and woe, His angel heart had overthrow From all the joys he loved so well, And only Hope of all the host...
Nature has a thousand choirs Singing in the sylvan shadows, And the music of her lyres Echoes in the merry meadows; Always glad with golden glee Sounds her happy melody,...
His greatness hath not left him; till the years Have won the nation from her children dead, And robbed her of remembrance where she rears Her monuments above the blood they shed,...
Within this false world we may count ourselves blest, If we have but one friend who is faithful and true; And so in your friendship contented I'll rest, And believe I have found that one blessing in you.
All worthies are not sung in song. That live their lives and do their deeds Where wounded nature writhes and bleeds Beneath the savage blows of wrong; From humble duties tender grown,...