THOU ART GONE TO THE LAND.

Thou art gone to the land of thy bloom and thy birth,

Thou fairest of beings that die:

We knew that thy spirit was purer than earth,

We knew that thy home was on high;

But we loved thee too well not to weep at thy flight,

And we said it was hard thou shouldst go:

There are angels enough in the regions of light,

But whom hast thou left us below?

Ah! well did we fear thou wast budding for Heaven,

Though nurst in a climate so cold,

And marked as a warning too faithfully given,

The wings of thy spirit unfold:

And rainbow on rainbow thy pinions displayed,

And thy gaze was, in love, on the sky,

And we said, ’tis an angel a moment delayed,

But plumed, and just ready to fly.

Thou art gone to the land of thy bloom and thy birth,

Though here was thy glory begun:

Ah! why hast thou left us a desolate earth,

Ere half of thy journey was done?

Ah! why was thy spirit so eager to fly,

And lose the dear shape that it wore?

Thou hast left to the grave, what was worthy the sky,

For scarce could an angel be more!