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16 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
Our tears cannot wake them, Nor sighs break their rest;
In vain do we weep O'er the passionless breast.
In this sacred enclosure
Still quiet they sleep ; And blest is their slumber,
Unbroken and deep!
THEY ARE PASSING.
They are passing—they are passing;
Friends I left in all their bloom 1 Every breeze from home is wafting
Some new triumph of the tomb! 0, how many happy faces,
Shining once around me there, Now are with the bands of angels
In heaven's glorious mansions fair!
They are dying—they are dying!
Those we loved in years gone by; Those whose names, like thoughts of childhood,
Seem like music from the sky: Those, the sainted, and the aged,
Who were lingerers on our shore— Ah! their counsels, fraught with wisdom,
Ne'er on earth shall reach us more!