“My father!”—to the gray-hair’d chief she spoke—
“Know’st thou that I depart?” “I know, I know,”
He answer’d mournfully, “that thou must go
To thy beloved, my daughter!” “Sorrow not
For me, kind mother!” with meek smiles once more
She murmur’d in low tones: “one happy lot
Awaits us, friends! upon the better shore;
For we have pray’d together in one trust,
And lifted our frail spirits from the dust
To God, who gave them. Lay me by mine own,