She was a gentle one:
Pure as a seraph’s tear;
Too soon her task was done;
Born but to disappear!
Low chant her requiem;
Close o’er her breast the sod;
Angels, teach her your hymn,
While winging her way to God.
She was a gentle one:
Pure as a seraph’s tear;
Too soon her task was done;
Born but to disappear!
Low chant her requiem;
Close o’er her breast the sod;
Angels, teach her your hymn,
While winging her way to God.