Elegy.
The bright sun shines upon the grave
And fresh trees wave above,
Where late in death’s cold bonds was laid
The form of her we love.
There morn and eve the dew will rest,
The wild flowers sweetly spring,
And birds in nature’s soothing notes
Her requiem softly sing.
A rural quiet reigns around,
The air seems holy breath,—
A calm asylum to repose
The worn out frame in death!
And thine was worn—for sorrow came,
And grief, and pain, and care;
Such fearful ill, such suff’ring keen,
As few are called to bear.
The promise saith those are beloved
Who own the chastening rod;
Such is our hope, and trust, and faith,
And now thou art with God.
“The Lord my Shepherd,” peaceful words
Thy dying lips disclose;
The Lord thy Shepherd is the joy
Thy risen spirit knows.
How oft our hopes will follow thee
To brighter realms above,
And feel our spirits linked to thine
In ties of sacred love.
Our thoughts of thee, as time rolls on,
Will grow more pure and bright,
And view thy well known earthly form
Arrayed in angel light.
May each in sorrow left behind
From sin and evil flee,
And through Redemptive love attain
That radiant world with thee.
Then shall we all again unite
To part in grief no more,
But mingle with serene delight,
On that eternal shore.