72
BURIAL OF AN
Where the long reeds quiver,
Where the pines make moan,
Leave we by the river
Earth to earth alone!
Lead to where the blessed boy is gone!
From the exile's sorrow,
From the wanderer's dread
Of the night and morrow,
Early, brightly fled;
Than our lost one o'er the ocean's foam.
Now let thought behold him
With his angel look,
Where those arms enfold him,
Which benignly took
When his voice their tender meekness blest.