Who, lovely on earth, is more lovely in Heaven,
Who called thee impatient his glory to share?
Oh! fair gleams the marble in yonder sweet forest
Which the hand of affection hath placed o'er thy grave;
And constant the tribute of fresh blooming flowers
By friendship entwined, and over thee laid.
Oh! sweet is the song that the wild bird is singing,
And fair are the trees that wave over thy head,
And soft are the shadows that sunset is flinging
O'er thee and thy babe in thy low quiet bed.