lirik lagu richard mitchley - i h b died august 11th 1898 by william winter
the dirge is sung, the ritual said
no more the brooding organ weeps
and, cool and green, the turf is spread
on that lone grave where bromley sleeps
gone—in his ripe, meridian hour!
gone—when the wave was at its crest!
and wayward humor’s perfect flower
is turned to darkness and to rest
no more those honest eyes will beam
with torrid light of proud desire;
no more those fluent lips will teem
with wit’s gay quip or passion’s fire
forever gone! and with him fade
the drеams that youth and friendship know—
the frolic and the glee that madе
the golden time of long ago
the golden time! ah, many a face,—
and his the merriest of them all,—
that made this world so sweet a place
is cold and still, beneath the pall
his was the heart that over~much
in human goodness puts its trust
and his the keen, satiric touch
that shrivels falsehood into dust
his love was like the liberal air,—
embracing all, to cheer and bless;
and every grief that mortals share
found pity in his tenderness
his subtle vision deeply saw
through piteous webs of human fate
the motion of the sovereign law
on which all tides of being wait
no sad recluse, no lettered drone
his mirthful spirit, blithely poured
in many a crescent frolic shone,—
the light of many a festal board
no pompous pedant, did he feign
with dull conceit of learning’s store;
but not for him were writ in vain
the statesman’s craft, the scholar’s lore
fierce for the right, he bore his part
in strife with many a valiant foe;
but laughter winged his polished dart
and kindness tempered every blow
no selfish purpose marked his way;
still for the common good he wrought
and still enriched the passing day
with sheen of wit and sheaves of thought
shrine him, new~england, in thy breast!
with wild~flowers grace his hallowed bed
and guard with love his laurelled rest
forever with thy holiest dead!
for not in all the teeming years
of thy long glory hast thou known
a being framed of smiles and tears
humor and force, so like thine own!
and never did thy asters gleam
or through thy pines the night~wind roll
to soothe, in death’s transcendent dream
a sweeter or a n0bler soul!
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