Volume: CBÉ 0485 (Part 2)

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1. In Memoriam (continued)

   

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   Still, still I prize this faded blade-- It sprung from consecrated clay, Nurs'd by a form that justice made The guardian of his life-long day. (May I in ways e'er live as he From servile ways, dishonor, free.)
   E'en tho' this blade of grass doth now Present to me a blighted bloom. It tells of pow'r to whom we bow, Who guards the altar, cot, and comb, Who'll raise my father's form to life Triumphant over temporal strife.
   Say, why is it the human heart, E'en tho' it gloats on pleasure's glow, Is ready still 'mid joys to part To scenes where friends are mould 'ring low; Nor shall it cease to love the dead; Nor cheer'd 'twill be, nor comforted ?

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   Transcribed by a member of our volunteer transcription project.

   History Edit

   Item type

   Lore

   Language

   Béarla

   Writing mode

   Handwritten

   Writing script

   Roman script

   Informant

   • John J. Walsh