Anniversary Of The Death Of An Aged Friend
by Lydia Howard Sigourney
Again o'er time's receding track,
Unfaded comes thine image back,
Oh thou! in childhood's years my pride,
Of joyous youth, the friend and guide
Thy form, by hoary age unbent,
Thv hand, on generous deeds intent,
Gleam o'er my eye, illusion dear!
And freshly wake the parting tear.
Tho' on this well-remember'd day
When thou didst sink to lowly clay,
Thy distant tomb I may not see
Nor bid one flower to bloom for thee,
Nor musing there, at evening's fall
Thy lessons to my soul recall,
It matters not; for hovering nigh
Thy living accents seem to sigh,
Thy voice to breathe the sacred song,
Thy love to make my spirit strong,
And while such balm thou still dost shed,
I scarce can feel that thou art dead.
As from thy lips when life was new;
The lore of heavenly peace I drew,
And o'er thy coffin, bending low,
First conn'd the alphabet of woe,
So. changeless in my bosom's cell
The memory of thy love shall dwell,
And still my prayer invoke the sky
Like thee to live; like thee to die.
Source:The Weeping Willow
Henry S. Parsons, Hartford.