in memoriam
113
"Look on those anguished eyes,
Look at that laboured breath,
See! how it struggles beneath
The tortured bosom to rise.
And will ye moan and weep
If God gives the maiden sleep?
If He calms that troubled breast,
If He gives your dear one rest—
The rest that she will prize."
Look at that laboured breath,
See! how it struggles beneath
The tortured bosom to rise.
And will ye moan and weep
If God gives the maiden sleep?
If He calms that troubled breast,
If He gives your dear one rest—
The rest that she will prize."
"Cease from mourning—cease!
Think me not cruel," said Death.
See! and he stopped the breath.
Lo! the painful gaspings cease,
The weary eyes droop and close:
O'er the worn face steals a look of repose;
She is over "the river" e'er she knows—
For with touch like a soft caress,
With an infinite tenderness,
To the maiden, Death whispered, Peace.
Think me not cruel," said Death.
See! and he stopped the breath.
Lo! the painful gaspings cease,
The weary eyes droop and close:
O'er the worn face steals a look of repose;
She is over "the river" e'er she knows—
For with touch like a soft caress,
With an infinite tenderness,
To the maiden, Death whispered, Peace.
