w. h. schneider.
105
The fragrant flowers, whose sweet perfume
Made beautiful the yawning tomb,
Will wither and decay;
But the memory of his kindliness,
His ever ready helpfulness,
Will never pass away.
Made beautiful the yawning tomb,
Will wither and decay;
But the memory of his kindliness,
His ever ready helpfulness,
Will never pass away.
In fancy I followed, mournful and slow,
In the wake of the great procession of woe,
Which bore him on to his rest.
And, as I thought of the widow's tears,
Thought of the poor and their grateful prayers,
I felt, nay, knew he was blest.
In the wake of the great procession of woe,
Which bore him on to his rest.
And, as I thought of the widow's tears,
Thought of the poor and their grateful prayers,
I felt, nay, knew he was blest.
And now, alas! he is numbered
Amongst the cold and silent dead.
Can such men die? No, never!
Spirit and body may depart,
But his kindly hand, his generous heart
Has made him ours for ever.
Amongst the cold and silent dead.
Can such men die? No, never!
Spirit and body may depart,
But his kindly hand, his generous heart
Has made him ours for ever.
