We All Must Go

DIED - On the 18th inst., JOHN F. H. VINCENT, aged 48

Thus hath died an honest man, the noblest work of God. 

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A Tribute on the Memory of J. F. H. Vincent, 

BY A. L. MANNING, M. D. 

And is he dead?  Can it be so?
The honest, just and kind,
And is it thus, we all must go?
God, save those left behind! 

And does his form, in death's stern grasp,
Move to the touch no more,
No more his wife to gently clasp,
Death awes the soul all o'er. 

And does his heart no more respond
To every kind appeal,
Wrapped in its more than icy bond,
In more than chains of steel? 

And must the tender light we've met
So often in his eyes,
In death's eternal glare, be set?
Behold, behold, he dies. 

And those ears forever closed
To every earthly sound
To voice, to wail; the wind that blows;
Whilst weeping friends surround? 

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 Hush!  what is that, that speaks? 'Tis death;
Death, with its silent voice;
Feel in that corpse, its icy breath;
Lo, there behold, no choice. 

Ye wife and orphans, grieve no more,
Cease now thy useless fears,
Perhaps, upon a brighter shore
We'll meet, to shed no tears. 

And as the valley's sod conceals
His form from earthly view,
In awful silence, God reveals
Almighty wisdom too. 

He sleeps, Oh, God! no other hand
Can wake that deep repose;
No power can break that unseen hand,
Save Christ, who from it rose. 

   then, since God decrees,
                  sever;
                  sees