Classic Poem

Short is the journey through this vale of woe;
And few the charms, which soothe the painful way;
For soon to cold and chearless death a prey
Are those fond looks, which made our bosoms glow:
O'er Friendship's grave, alas! our tears must flow,
And anxious Mem'ry oft recalls the day
When those yet charm'd, who now but senseless clay,
Deaf to our sighs, nor joy nor sorrow know.
Ev'n this warm heart, which now so fondly bleeds,
To-morrow's sun perhaps shall never chear:
Yet not unwelcome were that awful doom
Could future ages bless my virtuous deeds,
And orphans thank with many a heart-felt tear
This hand then mould'ring in the silent tomb.