AT REST.
O, weep for the friends who are gone,When farewells are tenderly said;Weep, weep for thyself if alone,But shed not a tear for the dead.
Thrice happy are they who thus sleep,With spring flowers blooming, above,No tear-drops bedew the pale cheekThey know not of hatred nor love.
When life with its sobbing and tearsLies hushed in the night of the tomb,When all the old passion and prideAre lost in the dark of its gloom,
Their slumber is pleasant and deepUnbroken by dreaming or pain,The woes that so wearied them hereWill weary them never again.
90
