Ah, no! I would rejoice that now
Ray ever round thy cherub-brow
Beams of celestial light.
Freed from the cankering cares of life,
Its tears—its bitterness—its strife—
From all the ills with which is rife
This changing, mortal coil;
Oh! sweet forever be thy rest
In that Elysium of the blest—
Fair Eden’s genial soil.