Death of an Aged Man

Rise, weary spirit, to a realm of rest!Sorrow hath had her will of thee, and Pain,With a destroyer's fury prob'd thy breast,But thou, the victory through Christ didst gain;Rise, freed from stain.

Years wrote their history on thy furrow'd browIn withering lines; and Time like ocean's foamSwept o'er the shores of hope, till thou didst knowEarth's emptiness. But now no more to roamPass to thy home.

Blest filial Love rescu'd its freshest wreathOf changeless green and blooming buds for thee,And o'er thy bosom threw its grateful breath,When the waste world, but weeds of miserySpread for thine eye.

Take up the triumph-song, thou who didst bowSo long and meekly, 'neath the Chastener's rod,Thou, whose firm faith beheld with raptur'd glowThe resurrection cleave the burial-sod,Go to thy God.