Poems (Holmes)/Consolation
For works with similar titles, see Consolation.
Consolation.
Weep not, weep not, though death's benumbing fingers Have rudely nipped a fair and tender bud;In that sweet germ no blight of sorrow lingers, But on celestial wings 'tis borne to God.
Weep not, weep not; the bud that faded here, Now sweetly blooms 'mid amaranthine flowers;In that high, holy, bright, immortal sphere, 'Tis now refreshed by love's soft genial showers.
Weep not, weep not; the bud that ye caressed, In sunny climes, by ever-living springs,Is now with life, in full-blown beauty blessed, And on celestial air, its sweetness flings.
Weep not, weep not; in those delightful regions, Basking in sunny smiles of Jesus' love,Thy tender bud, guarded by angel legions, Immortal blooms in Paradise above.