(1825-1906 / England)

Poems of Edward Henry Bickersteth

Cease to Weep

Life is at best a thorny path,
Then let us pluck the flowers,
And cease to weep
For those who sleep,
Embalm'd in Mem'ry's bowers.
Their days though few, yet happier far,
Than those who loiter here;
They sweetly rest
On nature's breast,

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