Amid a vast cathedral’s gloom,
In mournful grandeur and array,
Enclosed within a gorgeous tomb,
The ashes of a monarch lay.
And when he laid his robes aside,
The tidings spread from shore to shore,
“The King hath died! the King hath died!
He'll wear that earthly crown no more;
But O! a never-fading crown,
Of richer beauty, may he wear,
And reign with glory and renown
In regions ever bright and fair!”
But can he take his earthly fame?
Will praises, there, to him be given?
And will celestial hosts proclaim,
“A King! A King! is come to Heaven
No! he who judged his fellow-men,
While on this little earth he trod,
Will be arraigned among them then,
A prisoner at the bar of God
Within a rustic churchyard ground,
Beneath a spreading yew tree’s shade,
Arose a little verdant mound,
Wherein a cherub babe was laid;
How short on earth its little day!
How fleeting here the infant’s breath!
Ere to a world of brighter ray
‘Twas summoned, by the hand of death!
No solemn dirge; no mournful show,
When to its grave the child they bore,
The mother’s heart was filled with woe,
A father wept, and all was o’er!
But still, around that lowly tomb,
The air seems fill’d with holy chanting,
And flowerets fair beside it bloom,
That seem to be of angels’ planting!
The monarch’s glory was of earth,
His fame and praises here were given;
The babe’s was of celestial birth,
Its wreath was treasured up in Heaven
- Liverpool Albion. J.O. TILDESLEY.