She died, as dawned her natal day!
Amid the buds and flowers of May
Her spirit left the beauteous clay,
In death’s deep slumber here;
And mounting up her starry way,
Attained that holier sphere,
Where falls no night o’er birth-day light—
No sorrow brings a tear.
The joy and glory of the skies
With radiance fill her heavenly eyes,
Where thornless flowers around her rise,
And founts that ne’er shall fail;
While here her form so lowly lies
All silent, cold and pale;
Where dews distil, and night-winds chill
Moan through the shadowy vale.
[WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AFTER THE LINES OF A DECEASED FRIEND.]
Close to the lines that her dear hand had traced,
Who took so soon an angel’s form on high—
After her name is my memorial placed
For thee, my friend, and it shall tell thee why.
I find a sweetness where her spirit breathed:
A sacred halo round her name is thrown;
So, with the flowers that here her fingers wreathed
To borrow life from them, I twine my own.
Fresh in thy heart and mine her memory lives,
Fragrant and fair, and thornless in its bloom:
Here with the precious odor that it gives,
I fain my simple offering would perfume.
Then, whatsoe’er the change that comes to me—
Though death or duty put me far away,
These silent leaves may still unfold to thee
The wish of one who was thy friend to-day.
Peace be to thee—long life, and joy, and health
The blest allotment of thy sojourn here;
The portion of a child of God, thy wealth,
When time must close, and earth shall disappear!