Oh, it is not the tear at this moment shed,
When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him,
That can tell how beloved was the soul that's fled,
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him:
'Tis the tear through many a long day wept,
Through a life by his loss all shaded,
'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept,
When all other griefs have faded.
Oh! thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light
While it shines through our hearts will improve them;
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how he lived but to love them.
And as buried saints the grave perfume,
Where fadeless they've long been lying;—
So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom
From the image he left there in dying.