Where is she now?
Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art?
If death has laid his hand upon thy brow,
Has he not touched my heart?
Has he not laid it in the grave with thine,
And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine!
If thou wert dead,
I would not ask thee to reply;
But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled
To heaven, where it can never die!