NONE WILL MSB THEE.
Few will miss thee, friend, when thou For a month in dust has lain; Skilful hand and anxious brow, Tongue of wisdom, busy brain— All thou wert shall be forgot, And thy place shall know th* e not. Shadows from the bending trees O’er thy lowly head may pass, Sighs from every wandering breeze Stir the long, thick churchyard grass; Wilt thou heed them ? No; thy sleep Shall be dreamless, calm, and deep. Some sweet bird may sit and sing On the marble of thy tomb, Soon to flit on joyous wing From that place of death and gloom, On some bough to warble clear; But these songs thou shalt not hear. Some kind voice may sing thy praise, Passing near thy place of lest, Fondly talk of other day*.; But no throb within thy breast Shall respond to words of praise, Or old thoughts of other days. Since so fleeting is thy name, Talent beauty, power, and wit. It were well that without shame Thou in God’s great book were writ, There in golden words to be Graven for eternity. —‘ Chambers’s Journal.’
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ESD18861223.2.30.5
Bibliographic details
Evening Star, Issue 7093, 23 December 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)
Word Count
187NONE WILL MSB THEE. Evening Star, Issue 7093, 23 December 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)
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