For so He giveth His beloved sleep.
IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER
A soul is gather'd home;
At morn, at eve, on mission kind intent,
Her footsteps evermore were wont to roam,
Till years their ceaseless labor spent.
Each day its olive leaf of grace brought in—
garner'd leaf from charity's broad field;
Each day's good deeds redeem'd a life from sin,
And gray'd anew her shield.