Classic Poem

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS M — .

W INTER'S stern winds sweep round
The sepulchre where thy cold reliques lie;
But thou hear'st not their sound
As through the lofty leafless limes they sigh.

While we who went to-day,
With thoughts too deep for tears, unto thy worth
Our last sad debt to pay,
Think but of thee beside the blazing hearth

And now, with thankful heart
Let us thy cherished memory enshrine;
And, if our tears must start,
Let them be brighten'd by a hope divine.

Rest in thy quiet cell!
Till the last trumpet shall its silence burst;
When at that quickening spell
The dead in Christ shall joyfully rise first.