LINESON THE DEATH OF JOHN SINCLAIR, ESQ.,7th April 1844.Whenfrom its prison-house of clayThe spirit is unbound,When one we love is borne awayTo the lone narrow mound:We feel as if the charm were goneThat renders life so dear,And as a darkening cloud were thrownO'er all our prospects here.And whenhedied, we mourned for himAs only they could mournWho felt as if a precious limbWere from the body torn.Gentle and kind, and always true,Revered wherever known;No guile his bosom ever knew,'Twas friendship's sacred throne.From painful days, without relief,Death brought at last release;The change that gave to us but griefTo him was lasting peace.We bore him to his hill-side grave,[3]To sleep, but not alone;To kindred dust his dust we gave,To mingle with his own.To teach us that our home is notHere, where we seek to live,But that we have a happier lotThan aught this world can give,Death comes,—and when right understoodHis lesson sure is blest.—Thus one by one, the loved, the good,Are gathered to their rest![3]He was interred in the family burying-place, New Calton Burying-ground, Edinburgh.
Whenfrom its prison-house of clayThe spirit is unbound,When one we love is borne awayTo the lone narrow mound:We feel as if the charm were goneThat renders life so dear,And as a darkening cloud were thrownO'er all our prospects here.And whenhedied, we mourned for himAs only they could mournWho felt as if a precious limbWere from the body torn.Gentle and kind, and always true,Revered wherever known;No guile his bosom ever knew,'Twas friendship's sacred throne.From painful days, without relief,Death brought at last release;The change that gave to us but griefTo him was lasting peace.We bore him to his hill-side grave,[3]To sleep, but not alone;To kindred dust his dust we gave,To mingle with his own.To teach us that our home is notHere, where we seek to live,But that we have a happier lotThan aught this world can give,Death comes,—and when right understoodHis lesson sure is blest.—Thus one by one, the loved, the good,Are gathered to their rest!
Whenfrom its prison-house of clayThe spirit is unbound,When one we love is borne awayTo the lone narrow mound:We feel as if the charm were goneThat renders life so dear,And as a darkening cloud were thrownO'er all our prospects here.And whenhedied, we mourned for himAs only they could mournWho felt as if a precious limbWere from the body torn.Gentle and kind, and always true,Revered wherever known;No guile his bosom ever knew,'Twas friendship's sacred throne.From painful days, without relief,Death brought at last release;The change that gave to us but griefTo him was lasting peace.We bore him to his hill-side grave,[3]To sleep, but not alone;To kindred dust his dust we gave,To mingle with his own.To teach us that our home is notHere, where we seek to live,But that we have a happier lotThan aught this world can give,Death comes,—and when right understoodHis lesson sure is blest.—Thus one by one, the loved, the good,Are gathered to their rest!
Whenfrom its prison-house of clayThe spirit is unbound,When one we love is borne awayTo the lone narrow mound:We feel as if the charm were goneThat renders life so dear,And as a darkening cloud were thrownO'er all our prospects here.
Whenfrom its prison-house of clay
The spirit is unbound,
When one we love is borne away
To the lone narrow mound:
We feel as if the charm were gone
That renders life so dear,
And as a darkening cloud were thrown
O'er all our prospects here.
And whenhedied, we mourned for himAs only they could mournWho felt as if a precious limbWere from the body torn.Gentle and kind, and always true,Revered wherever known;No guile his bosom ever knew,'Twas friendship's sacred throne.
And whenhedied, we mourned for him
As only they could mourn
Who felt as if a precious limb
Were from the body torn.
Gentle and kind, and always true,
Revered wherever known;
No guile his bosom ever knew,
'Twas friendship's sacred throne.
From painful days, without relief,Death brought at last release;The change that gave to us but griefTo him was lasting peace.We bore him to his hill-side grave,[3]To sleep, but not alone;To kindred dust his dust we gave,To mingle with his own.
From painful days, without relief,
Death brought at last release;
The change that gave to us but grief
To him was lasting peace.
We bore him to his hill-side grave,[3]
To sleep, but not alone;
To kindred dust his dust we gave,
To mingle with his own.
To teach us that our home is notHere, where we seek to live,But that we have a happier lotThan aught this world can give,Death comes,—and when right understoodHis lesson sure is blest.—Thus one by one, the loved, the good,Are gathered to their rest!
To teach us that our home is not
Here, where we seek to live,
But that we have a happier lot
Than aught this world can give,
Death comes,—and when right understood
His lesson sure is blest.—
Thus one by one, the loved, the good,
Are gathered to their rest!
[3]He was interred in the family burying-place, New Calton Burying-ground, Edinburgh.
[3]He was interred in the family burying-place, New Calton Burying-ground, Edinburgh.