Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood

  By Jordan's stream, descended from the sky,

Is that remembrance which the wise and good

  Leave in the hearts that love them, when they die.

So pure, so precious shall the memory be,

Bequeathed, in dying, to our souls by thee—

So shall the love we bore thee, cherisht warm

  Within our souls thro' grief and pain and strife,

Be, like Elisha's cruse, a holy charm,

  Wherewith to "heal the waters" of this life!