In Memory of Charles H. Sandford.

He died, as he had lived, beloved,
    Without an enemy on earth;
In word and deed he breathed and moved
    The soul of honor and of worth:
His hand was open as the day,
    His bearing high, his nature brave;
And, when from life he passed away,
    Our hearts went with him to the grave.

What desolation filled our home
    When death from us our treasure bore!--
Oh! for the better world to come
    Where we shall meet to part no more!
The hope of THAT sustains us now,
    In THAT we trust on bended knee,
While thus around his faded brow
    We twine the wreath of memory.

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

Tis Now the Promised Hour. A Serenade.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Where Hudson's Wave.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Lord of the Castle.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

The Welcome and Farewell.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

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A Hero of the Revolution.

Let not a tear be shed!
    Of grief give not a token,
Although the silver thread
    And golden bowl be broken!
A warrior lived--a Christian died!
Sorrow's forgotten in our pride!

Go, bring his battle-blade,
    His helmet and his plume!
And be his trophies laid
    Beside him in the tomb,
Where files of time-marked veterans come
With martial tramp and muffled drum!

Give to the earth his frame,
    To moulder and decay;
But not his deathless name--
    That can not pass away!
In youth, in manhood, and in age,
He dignified his country's page!

Green be the willow-bough
    Above the swelling mound,
Where sleeps the hero now
    In consecrated ground:
Thy epitaph, O Delavan!
God's noblest work--an honest man!

George Pope Morris

In Memory Of The Late G. C. Of Montreal.

The earth was flooded in the amber haze
That renders so lovely our autumn days,
The dying leaves softly fluttered down,
Bright crimson and orange and golden brown,
And the hush of autumn, solemn and still,
Brooded o'er valley, plain and hill.

Yet still from that scene with rare beauty rife
And the touching sweetness of fading life,
From glowing foliage and sun bright ray,
My gaze soon mournfully turned away
To rest, instead, on a new made grave,
Enshrouding a heart true, loyal and brave.

At rest for aye! Cold and pulseless now
That high throbbing breast and calm, earnest brow;
Laid down forever the quick, gifted pen
That toiled but for God and his fellow men;
Silent that voice, free from hatred or ruth,
Yet e'er boldly raised in the cause of t...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

In Memoriam. - Mr. George Beach,

Died at Hartford, May 4th, 1860.


Aye, robe yourselves in black, light messengers
Whose letter'd faces to the people tell
The pulse and pressure of the passing hour.
'Tis fitting ye should sympathize with them,
And tint your tablets with a sable hue
Who bring them tidings of a loss so great.

What have they lost?
                    An upright man, who scorn'd
All subterfuge, who faithful to his trust
Guarded the interests they so highly prized,
With power and zeal unchang'd, from youth to age.

Yet there's a sadder sound of bursting tears
From woe-worn helpless ones, from widow'd forms
O'er whom he threw a shelter, for his name
Long mingled with their prayers, both night and morn.
The Missionary toward the setting sun
Will miss his l...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memory of John W. Francis, Jr.

He was the pulse-beat of true hearts,
    The love-light of fond eyes:
When such a man from earth departs,
    'Tis the survivor dies.

George Pope Morris

Silent Grief.

Where is now my peace of mind?
    Gone, alas! for evermore:
Turn where'er I may, I find
    Thorns where roses bloomed before!
O'er the green-fields of my soul,
    Where the springs of joy were found,
Now the clouds of sorrow roll,
    Shading all the prospect round!

Do I merit pangs like these,
    That have cleft my heart in twain?
Must I, to the very lees,
    Drain thy bitter chalice, Pain?
Silent grief all grief excels;
    Life and it together part--
Like a restless worm it dwells
    Deep within the human heart!

George Pope Morris

Funeral Hymn.

"Man dieth and wasteth away,
    And where is he?"--Hark! from the skies
I hear a voice answer and say,
    "The spirit of man never dies:
His body, which came from the earth,
    Must mingle again with the sod;
But his soul, which in heaven had birth,
    Returns to the bosom of God."

No terror has death, or the grave,
    To those who believe in the Lord--
We know the Redeemer can save,
    And lean on the faith of his word;
While ashes to ashes, and dust
    We give unto dust, in our gloom,
The light of salvation, we trust,
    Is hung like a lamp in the tomb.

The sky will be burnt as a scroll--
    The earth, wrapped in flames, will expire;
But, freed from all shackles, the soul
    Will rise in the midst of the fire.
Then, ...

George Pope Morris