Now Let the Mouth of Wailing for a Time

Now let the mouth of wailing for a time

Be shut, ye happy mourners; and return

To the marked door, the ribbon and the fern, / Without a tear. The good man in his prime, / The pretty child, the Gone-from a fair clime

Above the ashes of the solemn urn

Behold you; wherefore, then, these hearts that burn

With hot remorse, these cheeks the tears begrime?

Grief that is grief and worthy of that word

Is ours alone for whom no hope can be

That the loved eyes look down and understand. Ye true believers, trusters in the Lord, / Today bereft, tomorrow hand in hand, / Think ye not shame to show your tears to me?