POETRY
Published March, 24, 1832
Page 4 Column 1a
POETRY
From the Boston Recorder.
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. DR. ELIAS CORNELIUS
'All ye that are about him, bemoan, him and all ye that know his name, say, How is the strong staff broken! and the beautiful rod!'___ Jeremiah 48:17
It cannot be, It cannot be, that thou art on thy bier?--
But yesterday in all the prime of life's unspent career
I've seen the forest's noblest tree laid low
when lightenings (sic) shine.
And the column in its majesty torn from
the temple shrine,
But little deem'd that ice so soon would
check thy vital stream,
Or the sun that soar'd without a cloud thus
veiled its noon-tide beam.
I've seen thee in thy glory stand, while all
around was hush'd
And seraph wisdom from thy lips, in tones
of music gush'd;
For thou with willing hand didst lay at
joyous mourning's hour,
Down at the feet of Him who gave, thy
beauty and thy power,--
Thou for the helpless sons of woe didst
plead with words of flame,
And boldly strike the rocky heart, in thy
Redeemer's name.
And lo! that withering race who fade as
dew 'neath Summer's ray,
Who like the rootless weed are toss'd
from their own earth away,
Who trusted to a nation's vow, but found
that faith was vain,
And to their fathers' sepulchers return no
more again,--
They need thy blended eloquence of lip
and eye and brow
They need the righteous as a shield,-why
are thou absent now?
Long shall thine image freshly dwell be-
side their ancient streams,
Or mid their wanderings far and wide shall
gild their alien dreams,--
For Heaven to their sequester's haunts
thine early steps did guide,
And the Cherokee hath blest thy prayer
his cabin hearth beside,--
The Osage orphan meekly breath'd her
sorrows to thine ear,
And the lofty warrior knelt him down with
strange, repentant ear.
I see a consecrated throng of youthful
watchmen rise,
Still girding on for Zion's sake, their heaven
wrought panoplies;--
These in their solitude obscure thy generous
ardor sought,
And gathering with a tireless hand up to
the temple brought;
These, when the altar of their God they
serve with hallow's zeal,
Shall wear thy memory on their heart, an
everlasting seal.
I hear a voice of wailing from the islands
of the sea
Salvation's distant heralds mourn on
heathen shores for thee,
The constant love like Gilead's balm
refresh'd their weary mind,
And with the holy Evarts' name, thine
own was strongly twin'd;
But then from their astonish'd gaze hast
like a vision fled,
Just wrapt (sic) his mantle round thy breast,
then join'd him with the dead.
Farewell, We yield thee to the grave with
many a bitter tear,
Though it was not meet a soul like thine
should longer tarry here,
Fond clustering hopes have sunk with
thee that earth can ne'er restore;
Love casts a garland as thy turf that may
not blossom more;
But thou art where the dream of Hope
doth in fruition fade,
And love immortal and refined, glow in
without a shade.
Hartford, Feb. 12th 1832 L. H. S.