HE was all sunshine; in his face <br />The very soul of sweetness shone; <br />Fairest and gentlest of his race; <br />None like him we can call our own. <br /> <br />Something there was of one that died <br />In her fresh spring-time long ago, <br />Our first dear Mary, angel-eyed, <br />Whose smile it was a bliss to know. <br /> <br />Something of her whose love imparts <br />Such radiance to her day's decline, <br />We feel its twilight in our hearts <br />Bright as the earliest morning-shine. <br /> <br />Yet richer strains our eye could trace <br />That made our plainer mould more fair, <br />That curved the lip with happier grace, <br />That waved the soft and silken hair. <br /> <br />Dust unto dust! the lips are still <br />That only spoke to cheer and bless; <br />The folded hands lie white and chill <br />Unclasped from sorrow's last caress. <br /> <br />Leave him in peace; he will not heed <br />These idle tears we vainly pour, <br />Give back to earth the fading weed <br />Of mortal shape his spirit wore. <br /> <br />'Shall I not weep my heartstrings torn, <br />My flower of love that falls half blown, <br />My youth uncrowned, my life forlorn, <br />A thorny path to walk alone?' <br /> <br />O Mary! one who bore thy name, <br />Whose Friend and Master was divine, <br />Sat waiting silent till He came, <br />Bowed down in speechless grief like thine. <br /> <br />'Where have ye laid him?' 'Come,' they say, <br />Pointing to where the loved one slept; <br />Weeping, the sister led the way,-- <br />And, seeing Mary, 'Jesus wept.' <br /> <br />He weeps with thee, with all that mourn, <br />And He shall wipe thy streaming eyes <br />Who knew all sorrows, woman-born,-- <br />Trust in his word; thy dead shall rise!<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-memory-of-charles-wentworth-upham-jr/
