Classic Poem

WRITTEN DURING A PROTRACTED ILLNESS, OF WHICH IT WAS NOT EXPECTED THAT THE AUTHOR WOULD RECOVER .

The eye that beams when I am near,
Oh will it weep when I am gone?
The voice 'tis music now to hear,
Will it then breathe a sadder tone?
And, to my monumental stone,
When I have left this world of cares,
Will Mary come to mourn alone,
And dew my grave with memory's tears?

Yon moon, that glides aloft through heaven,
Robing the silent world in light,
Ah, well I love to gaze at even
Upon that orb so fair, so bright!
And so with me — a few short years —
Nay, months, will light the saddest brow;
Will hush the sighs, and dry the tears,
Of those who love me dearest now.