PASSED ON.
A scene of care and clouds
They have left for a home of joy
A world where pain each pleasure shrouds,
For bliss without alloy.
Our hearts their memories bless,
Our lips their worth confess,
Their own death-knell, they heard it rung,
And yet with uncomplaining tongue
They have passed on—
Our holy dead.
They have left for a home of joy
A world where pain each pleasure shrouds,
For bliss without alloy.
Our hearts their memories bless,
Our lips their worth confess,
Their own death-knell, they heard it rung,
And yet with uncomplaining tongue
They have passed on—
Our holy dead.
The same soft south-wind steals
O'er age's wrinkled brow,
And childhood's smooth cheek feels
Its soothing influence now;
Then by the couch of death
It gives the dying breath,
In weakness making strong;
Thus did they move along,
They have passed on—
Our holy dead.
O'er age's wrinkled brow,
And childhood's smooth cheek feels
Its soothing influence now;
Then by the couch of death
It gives the dying breath,
In weakness making strong;
Thus did they move along,
They have passed on—
Our holy dead.
