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She, who possest her soul in peace
And thoughtful happiness,
In each devout address.
His lips the while had only moved
In hollow repetition;
Bound over to perdition.
In present joy he wrapt his heart,
And resolutely cast
Of the future, or the past.
TWELVE years have held their quiet course
Since Cyra’s nuptial day;
Blest in her husband she hath been ;
He loved her as sincerely,
As he had bought her dearly.
She hath been fruitful as a vine,
And in her children blest; Sorrow hath not come near her yet, Nor fears to shake, nor cares to fret,
Nor grief to wound the breast.
And blest alike would her husband be,
Were all things as they seem;
And with every man's esteem.
But where the accursed reed had drawn
Nor could he from his heart throw off
The consciousness of his state ; It was there with a dull, uneasy sense,
A coldness and a weight;
It was there when he lay down at night,
He feels it whatever he does,
No occupation from his mind
But still he felt it most,
O miserable man !
O miserable man,
Yet dares not in prosperity
But happy man, whate'er
His earthly lot may be,
That shall set his spirit free,
In such faith hath Proterius lived ;
As if obtaining then new power, When he hath reach'd the awful hour
Appointed for all flesh.
Eleëmon and his daughter With his latest breath he blest, And saying to them, “We shall meet Again before the Mercy-seat !”
Went peacefully to rest.
This is the balm which God
And Cyra, in her anguish,
But her miserable husband
Whole Cæsarea is pour’d forth
To see the funeral state, When Proterius is borne to his resting place
Without the Northern Gate.
Not like a Pagan's is his bier
At doleful midnight borne
Of women hired to mourn.
With tapers in the face of day,
In long procession slow,
that soften woe.
In honour of the dead man's rank,
But of his virtues more,
The holy Bishop Basil
And with the Bishop side by side,
Was Eleëmon seen :
The trouble in his mien.
6 His master's benefits on him
Were well bestow’d,” they said, " Whose sorrow now full plainly show'd
How well he loved the dead."
They little ween'd what thoughts in him
The solemn psalm awoke,
Its surest comfort spoke :
“ Gather my
Saints together: In peace let them be laid, They who with me,” thus saith the Lord,
6. Their covenant have made!”
What pangs to Eleëmon then,
That psalmody convey'd !
A covenant had made.
And when he would have closed his ears
Against the unwelcome word, Then from some elms beside the way
A Raven's croak was heard.