Stranger, there is bending o'er thee
Many an eye with sorrow wet;
All our stricken hearts deplore thee;
Who, that knew thee, can forget?
Who forget what thou hast spoken?
Who, thine eye,-thy noble frame?
But that golden bowl is broken,
In the greatness of thy fame.
Autumn's leaves shall fall and wither
On the spot where thou shalt rest;
'T is in love we bear thee thither,
To thy mourning Mother's breast.
For the stores of science brought us,
For the charm thy goodness gave
To the lessons thou hast taught us,
Can we give thee but a grave?
Nature's priest, how pure and fervent
Was thy worship at her shrine!
Friend of man, of God the servant,
Advocate of truths divine,-
Taught and charmed as by no other
We have been, and hoped to be;
But, while waiting round thee, brother,
For thy light,-'t is dark with thee.
Dark with thee?-No; thy Creator,
All whose creatures and whose laws
Thou didst love, shall give thee greater
Light than earth's, as earth withdraws.
To thy God thy godlike spirit
Back we give, in filial trust;
Thy cold clay,-we grieve to bear it
To its chamber,-but we must.