Burial of a Friend

AS, bowed by sudden storms, the rose Sinks on the garden's breast, Down to the grave our brother goes, In silence there to rest.

No more with us his tuneful voice The hymn of praise shall swell; No more his cheerful heart rejoice When peals the Sabbath bell.

Yet, if, in yonder cloudless sphere, Amid a sinless throng, He utters in his Saviour's ear The everlasting song,—

No more we'll mourn the absent friend, But lift our earnest prayer, And daily every effort bend To rise and join him there.