How sad to see her worth untimely die!
Yet who may wail the needful rest?
Her willing hand, her tireless step, her active brain,
Rear'd lofty landmarks on the busy way;
The haunts that knew her long'd with yearning vain,
The reaper's scythe to stay.
The strife at last is o'er;
The strife that all great souls must needs endure;
And anchor'd fast on Eden's peaceful shore,
Her roving bark is strong and sure.