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    MEMORIES OF THE DEAD

    LINES Occasioned by the death of my father, Samuel Smith

    of Wilton, N.H., who died Dec. 1 st., 1852,
    aged 65 years.
    HHHH 71.1

    Ah! he is gone-there enshrouded he lies,
    Hushed is his voice, and bedimmed are his eyes.
    Cold is that form, and all motionless now,
    Death’s fatal seal on his calm, pallid brow.
    Mournful we gazed on the face of the dead,
    Many the tears that in sorrow we shed;
    Deep was the anguish then rending the heart,
    Sad was the hour, when we saw him depart.
    HHHH 71.2

    Slowly away moved the burial,
    Severed one link in affection’s fond chain;
    Low in the earth have they laid him to rest,
    Precious the treasure inclosed in its breast!
    Mother! the loved from thy bosom is torn,
    Children! our father has left us to morn.
    Lonely the hearth-stone-for one is not there-
    Broken the circle-and vacant the chair.
    HHHH 71.3

    Peaceful thy slumber! O, sweet thy repose!
    Safe from life’s turmoil, its cares and its woes.
    Short is the silent embrace of the tomb;
    Hope, pointing upward, disperses its gloom,
    Soon will the King in his glory descend,
    Triumph o’er Death, and the grave’s fetters rend;
    Kindred and friends shall we meet as they rise,
    Bright and immortal, ascending the skies.
    HHHH 72.1

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