Dirge
‘The silver cord loosed,
The golden bowl broken,’
The sunbeam has fallen,
The Saviour has spoken.
The yew and the cypress,
By Lethe's dark tide,
Are sweeping to-day—
A miner has died!
‘The white sands have crumbled
Away from his tread,’
By eternity's ocean—
A miner is dead!
His lamp has gone out;
What else can be done
Than lay him to sleep
Till the light of the sun?
Pine slabs! what of it?
Marble is dust,
Cold and as silent—
And iron is rust.
The golden bowl broken,’
The sunbeam has fallen,
The Saviour has spoken.
The yew and the cypress,
By Lethe's dark tide,
Are sweeping to-day—
A miner has died!
‘The white sands have crumbled
Away from his tread,’
By eternity's ocean—
A miner is dead!
His lamp has gone out;
What else can be done
Than lay him to sleep
Till the light of the sun?
Pine slabs! what of it?
Marble is dust,
Cold and as silent—
And iron is rust.
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