Poems (Holmes)/Consolation

For works with similar titles, see Consolation.

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Consolation.
Weep not, weep not, though death's benumbing fingers
 Have rudely nipped a fair and tender bud;
In that sweet germ no blight of sorrow lingers,
 But on celestial wings 'tis borne to God.

Weep not, weep not; the bud that faded here,
 Now sweetly blooms 'mid amaranthine flowers;
In that high, holy, bright, immortal sphere,
 'Tis now refreshed by love's soft genial showers.

Weep not, weep not; the bud that ye caressed,
 In sunny climes, by ever-living springs,
Is now with life, in full-blown beauty blessed,
 And on celestial air, its sweetness flings.

Weep not, weep not; in those delightful regions,
 Basking in sunny smiles of Jesus' love,
Thy tender bud, guarded by angel legions,
 Immortal blooms in Paradise above.

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