Oh! Ne'er upon My Grave Be Shed

Oh! ne'er upon my grave be shed
The bitter tears of sinking age,
That mourns its cherished comforts dead,
With grief no human hopes assuage.

When, through the still and gazing street,
My funeral winds its sad array,
Ne'er may a Father's faltering feet
Lead with slow steps the church-yard way.

'T is a dread sight, — the sunken eye,
The look of calm and fixed despair,
And the pale lips which breathe no sigh,
But quiver with the unuttered prayer.

Ne'er may a Mother hide her tears,
As the mute circle spreads around;
Or, turning from my grave, she hears
The clods fall fast with heavy sound.

Ne'er may she know the sinking heart,
The dreary loneliness of grief,
When all is o'er, — when all depart,
And cease to yield their sad relief;

Nor, entering in my vacant room,
Feel, in its chill and lifeless air,
As if the dampness of the tomb
And spirits of the dead were there.

Oh! welcome, though with care and pain,
The power to glad a parent's heart;
To bid a parent's joys remain,
And life's approaching ills depart.