To burst its channel and become a sea.
O Sister, who ere yet my task is done
Art lying (my loved Sister!) in thy shroud
With a calm placid smile upon thy lips
As thou wert only “taking of rest in sleep,”
Soon to wake up to ministries of love,—
Open those lips, kind Sister, for my sake
In the mysterious place of thy sojourn,
(For thou must needs be with the bless'd,—yea, where
The pure in heart draw wondrous nigh to God,)