Poems (Rice)/With a Wreath
WITH A WREATH, ON THE DEATH OF A VALUED FRIEND, P. W.
COULD I weave a wreath of fadeless flowers Of amaranthine hue, Could I cull sweet flowers from Eden's bowers All wet with fragrant dew, I would bring them now to deck his bier, I'd crown him for the grave; Who thought to him that death was near, The generous, the brave?
How suddenly the dreadful summons came, I tremble while I think; But then our loss is his eternal gain And we are on the brink. Alas! alas! I may not finish this, This chaplet of flowers, Before a message from the realms of bliss May bear me to its bowers.
This is a simple offering sure, But what more can I bring? It is a tribute of affection pure, An humble offering. How calm he sleeps! life's struggles all are o'er; No farewell word was said;And few I know will be lamented more; He sleeps—he is not dead.