She had her joys;—’twas joy to her to love,
To labor in the world with God above,
And tender hearts that ever near did move.
She had her griefs;—but they left peace behind,
And healing came on every stormy wind,
And still with silver every cloud was lined.
And every loss sublimed some low desire,
And every sorrow taught her to aspire,
Till waiting angels bade her “Go up higher.”
E. S.