I am lucky enough to have in my personal library a book entitled ‘The Mourner’s Friend or Sighs of Sympathy For Those Who Sorrow’. It is a collection of prose and verse compiled to give comfort to the grieving. Edited by J.B. Syme, published in 1852 by S.A. Howland in Worcester, Mass, USA; its contents are predominantly by American authors. My copy of the book has some water damage, ageing paper, and precarious binding, so before it deteriorates my project to preserve the words of the authors will find its way here on the MOLAM blog.
We All Do Fade As A Leaf.
Summer’s green leaves are withering;
From the blighted stalk they fall.
From the stately oak, and the graceful elm,
From the weed on the garden wall.
Softly upon the gentle breeze,
Rudely upon the blast,
And fast and thickly they strew the earth,
As the storm-wind hurries past.
Withered and sere,
With many a tear,
From the weeping clouds,
They fall on the lap of the dying year.
Ay, and like them we fade,
And fall to our kindred earth;
Grave-ward our feet are set,
From the very hour of birth;
The child on its mother’s knee,
The bride in her youthful bloom,
With the manly form and the hoary head,
Are journeying to the tomb.
All, all must go,
whether high or low;
Not the crowned king
Can say to the last pale messenger, No!
Slowly some fade and die,
And sink to their evening rest,
As the leaves on the gentle zephyr borne,
When the sun sets in the west.
Suddenly some are called away,
As the wailing blast goes by,
And the pestilence, like the fierce storm-wind,
Bids tens of thousands die.
Like the withered leaves
which the earth received,
we fade and fall,
While Love o’er its blighted treasures grieves.