2 The earth doth mourn her treasures lost,
All sepulchred beneath the snow,
When wintry winds and chilling frost
Have laid her summer glories low;
The spring returns, the flow’rets bloom,—
An angel sits beside the tomb.
3 Then mourn we not beloved dead,
E’en while we come to weep and pray;
The happy spirit hath but fled
To brighter realms of heavenly day;