To the Memory of Joseph Spalding of Brooklyn

No bitter tears bedew the grave
     That Love and Faith are bending o’er,
While Heaven receives the soul it gave,
     To grow and gladden evermore.

Sadly we render dust to dust,
     But every tear-drop glitters warm,
With radiance of immortal trust
     That looks beyond the vanished form.

Deep in our silent thought we guard
     The humble virtues that he bore,—
The kindness, seeking no reward;
     The helping hand, the open door.

True soul no worldly lure could bend
     From upright manhood’s guileless plan;
The generous father, husband, friend,
     “God’s noblest work, an honest man!”

No golden pavements lured his feet
     To walk the upright way; no twang
Of golden harp-strings timed the beat
     Of his firm tread, with iterant clang.

With inborn goodness for his guide,
     And stainless honor for his law,
He asked no tempting boon, beside
     To calmly live the truth he saw.

His faith in unobtrusive deeds
     Was written; and his serious thought,
Unfettered by the jangling creeds,
     Its Heaven in Reason’s empire sought

He shrunk not from the loathliest wretch
     That haunts the lazar-house of need,
His hand to palsied age would stretch
     And lift the burden with tender heed.

Ah, wealth may rear a prouder tomb
     To keep the memory of its dead!
But household love’s perennial bloom
     Shall fuller grace his lowly bed!