Mistaken Grief

We mourn for those who toil,The wretch who ploughs the main,The slave, who hopeless tills the soilBeneath the stripe and chain;For those who in the world's hard race,O'erwearied and unblest,A host of gliding phantoms chase,Why mourn for those who rest?

We mourn for those who sin,Bound in the tempter's snare,Whom syren pleasure beckoneth inTo prisons of despair,—Whose hearts by whirlwind passions tornAre wreck d on folly's shore,But why in anguish should we mournFor those who sin no more?

We mourn for those who weep,Whom stern afflictions bend,Despairing o'er the lowly sleepOf lover or of friend,

But they who Jordan's swelling tideNo more are call'd to stem,Whose tears the hand of God hath dried,Why should we mourn for them?