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132 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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'Tis all in vain to weep for them—the past a dream
appears; And where are they—the lov'd, the young, the friends
of boyhood's years?
Go seek them in the cold churchyard, they long have
stol'n to rest; But do not weep, for their young cheeks by woe were
ne'er oppress'd; Life's sun for them in splendor set—no cloud came
o'er the ray That lit them from this gloomy world upon their joyous
way. No tears about their graves be shed—but sweetest
flowers be flung, The fittest off'ring thou canst make to hearts that perish young — To hearts this world has never torn with racking hopes
and fears; For bless'd are they who pass away in boyhood's
happy years! |
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