Classic Poem

Peace to the tenants of the tomb
Whom oft we met in hall and bower,
Peace to the buried friends with whom
We shared the charm of music's hour;
Tho' dead, they are not mute, for still
Does memory wake some favour'd strain
That makes our yearning bosoms thrill
As if they lived and sang again.

Health to the friends we still possess;
Oh! long and often may we meet,
Our yet remaining years to bless
With Music's pleasures pure and sweet:
And praises to the power divine
That gave to man the precious boon,
Which makes life's social evening shine
As brightly as its morn and noon.