There dawned thy soul divine;
But Heaven has won thee now, Annie!
A lovelier morn is thine!
While paled life’s early rose,
Thy spirit plumed her wings,
And now—how soft they close, Annie!
While God’s new angel sings!
“Some time before her death, the dear little child had frequently looked up in her mother’s face, and exclaimed, without any apparent or immediate cause—‘Happy Annie!’ and ‘Happy Annie!’ was the only epitaph they traced upon the simple slab of white marble that marked her little grave.
“But I shall sing you to sleep, my own Marie, if I give you any more of my verses: so take a spirit-kiss, and believe me still
“Your fondly attached,