THE good old man is gone!
He lies in his saintly rest,
     And his labours all are done,
And the work, that he loved the best:
     The good old man is gone,
But the dead, in the Lord, are blessed!

     I stood in the holy aisle,
When he spake the solemn word,
     That bound him, through care and toil,
The servant of the Lord:
     And I saw, how the depths of his manly soul,
By that sacred vow, were stirred.

     And nobly, his pledge he kept;
For the truth, he stood up alone,
     And his spirit never slept,
And his march was ever, on!
     Oh! deeply and long, shall his loss be wept;
The brave old man, that's gone.

     There were heralds of the cross,
By his bed of death, that stood,
     And heard, how he counted all but loss,
For the gain of his Saviour's blood;
     And patiently waited his Master's voice,
Let it call him, when it would.

     The good old man is gone!
An apostle's chair is void,
     There's dust, on his mitre, thrown,
And they've broken his pastoral rod!
     And the fold of his love, he has left alone,
To account for its care, to God.

     The wise old man is gone;
His honoured head lies low,
     And his thoughts, of power are done,
And his voice's manly flow,
     And his pen, that, for truth, like a sword, was drawn,
Is still, and soulless, now.

     The brave old man is gone!
With his armour on, he fell;
     Nor a groan, nor a sigh, was drawn,
When his spirit fled, to tell;
     For mortal sufferings, keen and long,
Had no power, his heart to quell.

     The good old man is gone!
He is gone, to his saintly rest;
     Where no sorrow can be known,
And no trouble can molest;
     For his crown of life is won,
And the dead, in Christ, are blessed!

Boston, March 15, 1830.

Project Canterbury