little while, that it may gain
The spirit's fellowship once more.

The years will pass with rapid pace
Till through these limbs the life shall flow,
And the long-parted spirit go
To seek her olden dwelling-place.

Then shall the body, that hath lain
And turned to dust in slow decay,
On airy wings be borne away
And join its ancient soul again.

Therefore our tenderest care we spend
Upon the grave: and mourners go
With solemn dirge and footstep slow--
Love's last sad tribute to a friend.

With fair white linen we enfold
The dear dead limbs, and richest store
Of Eastern unguents duly pour
Upon the body still and cold.

Why hew the rocky tomb so deep,
Why raise the monument so fair,
Save that the form we cherish there
Is no dead thing, but laid to sleep?

This is the faithful ministry
Of Christian men, who hold it true
That all shall one day live anew
Who now in icy slumber lie.

And he whose pitying hand shall lay
Some friendless outcast 'neath the sod,
E'en to the almighty Son of God
Doth that benignant service pay.

For this same law doth bid us mourn
Man's common fate, when strangers die,
And pay the tribute of a sigh,
As when our kin to rest are borne.

Of holy Tobit ye have read,
(Grave father of a pious son),
Who, though the feast was set, would run
To do his duty by the dead.

Though waiting servants stood around,
From meat and drink he turned away
And girt himself in haste to lay
The bones with weeping in the ground.

Soon Heaven his righteous zeal repays
With rich reward; the eyes long blind
In bitter gall strange virtue find
And open to the sun's clear rays.

Thus hath our Heavenly Father shown
How sharp and bitter is the smart
When sudden on the purblind heart
The Daystar's healing light is thrown.

He taught us, too, that none may gaze
Upon the heavenly demesne
Ere that in darkness and in pain
His feet have trod the world's rough ways.

So unto death itself is given
Strange bliss, when mortal agony
Opens the way that leads on high
And pain is but the path to Heaven.

Thus to a far serener day
Our body from the grave returns;
Eternal life within it burns
That knows nor languor nor decay.

These faces now so pinched and pale,
That marks of lingering sickness show,
Then fairer than