True Christian, tender husband, gentle Sire, <br />A stricken household mourns thee, but its loss <br />Is Heaven's gain and thine; upon the cross <br />God hangs the crown, the pinion, and the lyre: <br />And thou hast won them all. Could we desire <br />To quench that diadem's celestial light, <br />To hush thy song and stay thy heavenward flight, <br />Because we miss thee by this autumn fire? <br />Ah, no! ah, no! -- chant on! -- soar on! -- Reign on! <br />For we are better -- thou art happier thus; <br />And haply from the splendor of thy throne, <br />Or haply from the echoes of thy psalm, <br />Something may fall upon us, like the calm <br />To which thou shalt hereafter welcome us!<br /><br />Henry Timrod<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-15-2/
