Folded in her arms,
Bertha with tender accents said, "my child,
We please not her who to the angels went,
By hopeless grief. Doubt not her watchful eye
Regards us, though unseen. How oft she taught
To make God's will our own. You, who were glad
To do her bidding then, distress her not
By disobedience now. Waste not the health
In reckless martyrdom, which Heaven hath link'd
With many duties, and with hope to dwell