Finished now the weary throbbing,
Of a bosom calmed to rest;
Laid aside the heavy sorrows,
That for years upon it prest.
All the thirst for pure affection,
All the hunger of the heart;
All the vain and tearful cryings,
All forever now depart.
Clasp the pale and faded fingers,
O’er the cold and lifeless form;
They shall never abrink and shiver,
Homeless in the dark and storm.
Press the death-weights calmly, gently,
O’er the eyelids in their sleep;
Tears shall never tremble from them,
They shall never wake to weep.
Close the silent lips together,
Lips once parted with a sigh;
Through their sealed, moveless portals,
Ne’er shall float a bitter cry.
Bring no bright and blooming flowers,
Let no mournful tears be shed,
Funeral flowers, tears of sorrow,
They are for the cherished dead.
She has been a lonely wanderer,
Drifting on the world’s highway;
Grasping with her woman’s nature,
Feeble reeds to be her stay.
God is witness to the anguish,
Of a heart that’s all alone;
Floating blindly on life’s current,
Only bound unto His throne.
But o’er such, Death’s solemn angel,
Broodeth with a sheltering wing;
Till the hopeless hand ’s grown weary,
Cease around earth’s toys to cling.
Then kind hands will clasp them gently,
On the still, unaching breast;
Softly treading by, they’ll whisper,
Of the lone one gone to rest.