On the Death of an Aged Clergyman

On the Death of an Aged Clergyman

YOU will not see him more: - You, whose first thoughts
Blest with his image, who to manhood grew
Beneath the shelter of his saintly shade,
And brought your own young infants to his hand,
For the baptismal water, and lived on
Amid his teachings, till the silver hairs
Came all unlooked for, stealing o'er your brow, -
You will not see him more.
Where duly as the day of God return'd,
His solemn voice held converse with the skies,
For you and yours, till more than fourscore years
Swept in deep billows o'er him. You will hear
That voice no more.
Where with the partner of his heart, he shared
Affection's joys so long, and fondly marked
His children and his children's children rise
Clustering around his board.
His cordial welcome? how he freely dealt
A patriarch's wisdom, in monitions kind
To all who sought him? - how with ancient grace
Of courteous hospitality, he gave
Example of those virtues, pure and sweet,
Which round the hearthstone rooting, have their fruit
Where men are judged? -
Till all the loved companions of his youth
Had gone to rest. Yet so he loved your souls,
That for their sakes, he willingly sustained
Life's toil and cumbrance, and stood forth alone,
An aged oak amid the fallen grove.
His Master called!
And he had girdled up his loins to speak
A message in the temple. Time had strewn
The almond blossom, and his head was white
As snows of winter; yet within his heart
Glowed the same temperate and unwavering zeal
That nerved his youth.
So laying down the Bible that he loved,
That single weapon he so meek had borne
Through all the strife of time, he yielded back
The spirit to its Giver, and went home:
Yea, full of honors, as of days, went home.

HARTFORD, Dec., 1838

Mrs. L.H. Sigourney (Lydia Huntley Sigourney)

3:7, p. 4

1839.02.23

From Boston Weekly Magazine