speak gently of the dead.
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No health returned to that gentle boy:
Yet his hands were clasped, and his languid eye
Was in meekness raised to that gracious Power
Who cheered his soul in its parting hour.
Yet his hands were clasped, and his languid eye
Was in meekness raised to that gracious Power
Who cheered his soul in its parting hour.
Speak Gently of the Dead.
The dead!—nay, mention not the dead,
Thy silence now they claim;
Wherefore select the low-laid head,
If slander be thy theme?
Thy silence now they claim;
Wherefore select the low-laid head,
If slander be thy theme?
Have they no virtues to record?
Then let their vices lie
If from the upright path they've err'd,
Who says—"So have not I?"
Then let their vices lie
If from the upright path they've err'd,
Who says—"So have not I?"
The dead—the lost—whate'er their fault
May've been in life, there's some,
Some who, with heart all sorrow-fraught,
Bewail their lonely home;
May've been in life, there's some,
Some who, with heart all sorrow-fraught,
Bewail their lonely home;
Some who have miss'd them from their hearth,
And could with tears reveal
Such virtues of the "laid in earth,"
As purest bosoms feel.
And could with tears reveal
Such virtues of the "laid in earth,"
As purest bosoms feel.
