HARRIET M. SKIDMORE.
O holy Church! thy mother-heart
Still clasps the child of grace;
And nought its links of love can part,
Or rend its fond embrace.
Thy potent prayer and sacred rite
Embalm the precious clay,
That waits the resurrection-light—
The fadeless Easter day.
And loving hearts, by faith entwined,
True to that faith shall be,
And keep the sister-soul enshrined
In tender memory;
Shall bid the ceaseless prayer ascend,
To win her guerdon blest;
The radiant day that hath no end,
The calm, eternal rest.