Poems (Douglas)/Speak Gently of the Dead
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?
Have they no virtues to record? Then let their vices lieIf 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;
Some who have miss'd them from their hearth, And could with tears revealSuch virtues of the "laid in earth," As purest bosoms feel.
But be it as it may—tis not For us to wound their fame,And hold to view each tarnish'd spot Once flung upon their name—
Perhaps by envy, for there are Tongues that, with scorpion cling,Lay venom'd hold on character, E'en till they lose their sting.
But ah! they might in pity spare The sleepers 'neath the sod;E'en though their heart was prone to err, Their gracious judge is God.
Then who are we who so condemn Our fellow-mortals here?Arraigned at the same bar with them All must at last appear;
Each one to answer for his own, Not for his neighbour's guile;Who then, before that awful throne, Can clear himself the while?
Ah! then, speak gently of the dead, When borne from earth away;The green sod resting on their head Might shield from calumny!