Deacon Normand Smith

One saintly man the less, to teach us how
Wisely to live,--one blest example more
To teach us how to die.
Fourscore and seven,
Swept not the beauty of his brow away,
Nor quell'd his voice of music, nor impair'd
The social feeling that through all his life
Ran like a thread of gold.
In filial arms
Close wrapp'd with watchful tenderness, he trod
Jordan's cold brink.
The world was beautiful,
But Christ's dear love so wrought within his heart
That to depart seem'd better.
Many a year
He lent his influence to the church he loved,
For unity and peace, and countless gems
Dropp'd from his lips when the last sickness came,
To fortify young pilgrims in the course
That leads to glory and eternal life.

As the frail flesh grew weak, the soul look'd forth
With added brightness thro' the clear, dark eye,
As though it saw unutterable things,
Or heard the welcome of beloved ones
Who went to rest before him.
So, with smiles,
And prayers and holy hymns, and loving words
He laid the burden of the body down,
And slept in Jesus.