Faint beats the hovering pulse, the trembling heart;
Yet fond existence lingers ere she part!
’Tis past! the struggle and the pang are o’er,
And life shall throb with agony no more;
While o’er the wasted form, the features pale,
Death’s awful shadows throw their silvery veil.
Departed spirit! on this earthly sphere
Though poignant suffering mark’d thy short career,
Still could maternal love beguile thy woes,
And hush thy sighs—an angel of repose!