And the chapel is bathed in rosy light.
'Tis o'er! side by side in the chapel fair,
Are the sainted maidens laid;
With their snowy brow, and their glossy hair,
They look not like the dead;
Fifty summers have come and passed away,
But their loveliness knoweth no decay!
And many a chaplet of flowers is hung,
And many a bead told there,
And many a hymn of praise is sung,