We feel that death has indeed passed o’er,
And a blank is left, to be filled no more.
But though the world and its witching smile,
That cheats the heart of its woes awhile,
Would prove in its time of deepest need
But the frail support of a broken reed,
Religion’s beam has the magic power
To chase the cloud from its darkest hour,
To turn the soul from its idols here,
And fix its hopes on a purer sphere;