Burial of a Friend

by Lydia Sigourney

   AS, bowed by sudden storms, the rose
      Sinks on the garden's breast,
   Down to the grave our brother goes,
      In silence there to rest.

   No more with us his tuneful voice
      The hymn of praise shall swell;
   No more his cheerful heart rejoice
      When peals the Sabbath bell.

   Yet, if, in yonder cloudless sphere,
      Amid a sinless throng,
   He utters in his Saviour's ear
      The everlasting song,—

   No more we'll mourn the absent friend,
      But lift our earnest prayer,
   And daily every effort bend
      To rise and join him there.

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All poems by Lydia Sigourney →

Burial of a Friend

More poems by Lydia Sigourney

Harvest (Sigourney)

Bread in the Wilderness

Charity Never Faileth

Child's Prayer at entering Church