The Wilmingtonian, And Delaware Advertiser

TO THE DEPARTED.

Sleep on—for thou art calm at last;
And all the wrongs and all the woes
That marked thy weary wanderings past,
Have left thee to thy long repose.—

Thy sun of life midst tempests rose,
In storms and darkness hat' it set;
Yet rays of glory, at its close,
Bursts forth, whose lustre, lingering yet,
Reveals to faith's uplifted eye,
How blest thine immortality!

Yes!—thine is now a brighter doom,
A bliss unchanging as divine;
While he who shared thine hours of gloom,
Whose tears were even mixed with thine,
Is left to suffer and repine—

Oh not repine!—sad heart be still!
And let it teach thee to resign,
And bend thee to thy Father's will,
That she, whose sorrows were thine own,
Is blest at length—though blest alone.

I will not mourn thee, dearest—no!
As one whose hope is quenched for aye,
The tear unceasing shall not flow
Which earth nor heaven can wipe away.

Rather from realms of cloudless day,
A light shall pierce the circling gloom,
To cheer me on my weary way,
And guide the wanderer to his home,—
A home, where all that grieved before,
Is known—or is deplored—no more!