Had Heaven, to prayer of mine more kind,
But snapped my thread of Being first,
I know how, lingering here behind,
Thou wouldst have deemed thy lot the worst;
And how thou wouldst have shed the tear
Over my coldly silent bier.
But this, alas! might not be so,
And I remain to weep for Thee;
And still weep on, though well I know
Such parting is but life's decree;
That, doomed to leave, or left forlorn,
We must be mourned for, or must mourn.

More verses by John Kenyon