“Ululu! ululu! kind was his heart!
Walk slower, walk slower, too soon we shall part.
The faithful and pious, the Priest of the Lord,
His pilgrimage over, he has his reward.
By the bed of the sick lowly kneeling,
To God with the raised cross appealing —
He seems still to kneel, and he seems still to pray,
And the sins of the dying seem passing away.
“In the prisoner's cell, and the cabin so dreary,
Our constant consoler, he never grew weary;
But he's gone to his rest,
And he's now with the bless'd,
Where tyrant and traitor no longer molest —
Ululu! ululu! wail for the dead!
Ululu! ululu! here is his bed!”
Short was the ritual, simple the prayer,
Deep was the silence, and every head bare;
The Priest alone standing, they knelt all around,
Myriads on myriads, like rocks on the ground.
Kneeling and motionless — “Dust unto dust.
He died as becometh the faithful and just —
Placing in God his reliance and trust.”
Kneeling and motionless — “ashes to ashes” —
Hollow the clay on the coffin-lid dashes;
Kneeling and motionless, wildly they pray,
But they pray in their souls, for no gesture have they;
Stern and standing — oh! look on them now.
Like trees to one tempest the multitude bow;
Like the swell of the ocean is rising their vow: