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He is sleeping, sounding sleeping
In the cold and silent tomb.
He is resting, sweetly resting
In perfect peace, all alone.
He has left us, God bereft us,
And his will must e'er be done,
It will grieve us, and bereave us
To think of this noble son.
While on earth he done his duty,
To all his fellow men,
Some will miss him in his of office,
Where he often used the pen.
He was witty, always happy,
Kind and genial in his way;
He was generous in his actions,
And his honor could display.
He has held many an office,
And has done his duty well;
And his name will be remembered
By the friends that knew him well.
Friends are weeping, softly weeping,
In his kind and loving home;
Let him slumber, sweetly slumber,
Till God calls him from the tomb.
Julia A Moore
Read poems about / on: son, happy, peace, home, alone, god, friend, remember, sleep
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