Affection made blind;
Before her ye saw a bright future outspread
But dreamed not of dirge-note or shroud for the dead.
Oh! blest is the spirit
Unstained by the clod,
That mounts, in the morn,
Like a sky-lark to God:
A glittering host the new-comer surround,
And welcome the harp-strings of Paradise sound.
Ye Stricken! oh think,