With a Wreath

COULD I weave a wreath of fadeless flowersOf amaranthine hue,Could I cull sweet flowers from Eden's bowersAll 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 gainAnd we are on the brink.Alas! alas! I may not finish this,This chaplet of flowers,Before a message from the realms of blissMay 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.