“She hath laid her down by the crystal river,
To bathe in its waters of life forever.”
We have lain the bud of our promise down
To rest in the darksome mold,
For the light within had flickered and flown,
And the pure warm heart was cold.
Now the crisping snow lies above her head,
And low is the wind’s chill moan,
That ruffles the sheet on her narrow bed,
But the spirit afar hath flown.