  Sometimes the silver cord of life Is loosed at one brief stroke; As when the elements at strife, With Nature's wild contentions rife, Uproot the sturdy oak. Or fell disease, in patience borne, Attenuates the frame Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn, Of energy and beauty shorn, Death's sweet release would claim. By instant touch or long decay Is dissolution wrought; When, lost to earth, the grave and gay, The young and old who pass away, Abide in hallowed thought. In dear regard together drawn, Affection's debt to pay, Fond greetings we exchange at dawn With one who, ere the day be gone, Is bruised and lifeless clay. With health and hope elate, For whom in youth's enchanting prime The bells of promise seemed to chime, We mourn thy early fate! To us how sudden—yet to thee Perchance God kindly gave Some warning, ere the fatal key Unlocked the door of mystery That lies beyond the grave. Then let us hope that one who found Such favor, trust, and love, And cordial praise from all around, For rare fidelity renowned, Found favor, too, above. So "all is well," though swift or slow God's will be done; and we Draw near to him, for close and low Beneath his chastening hand, the blow Will fall less heavily. |
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