Nor sees the little coffin laid beside the open grave;
Her pale, pale face is upward turned, her eyes are fixed on high,
A glory shineth on her face, a rapture in her eye!
Why stands she gazing up to Heaven? what sees the mother there?
She sees her shining cherub boy, in answer to her prayer!
The prayer is ended—all is still—and now the man of God
(Before the ready spade has touch’d the cold expectant sod,)
Returns the mourners’ thanks to all who’ve lent their kindly aid
To those on whom the hand of God its crushing weight has laid;
In watching by the suff’rer’s couch, through many a weary night,