F. L. WISE.
As when Judea's widows mourned as dead
The friend who fashioned garments for the poor,
So, tribute upon tribute here we spread
To thy sweet memory—but we ask no more.
We would not see those sympathising eyes
Wake to our scenes of sorrow, sin and strife,
We would not hear again thy pitying sighs,
Nor trace thy footsteps 'mid the thorns of life.
For “Blessed are the dead” to whom the sleep
Of the beloved by the Lord is given;
Bright the memorial earth delights to keep
Of those who strove to raise her nearer heaven.
Follower of Him who, in compassion, bore
The burden of unmeasured sin and pain,
With those that weep they tears shall fall no more,
Rejoicing, may we meet thy smile again.