Yes, O my mother! thou art fled.
And who on this lone heart will shed
The healing dew of sympathy,
That stills the bosom's deepest sigh?
Yes! thou art fled, but if 'tis given
To spirits in the courts of heaven
To watch o'er those they love (for this
Must heighten even angels' bliss),
If blessing so refined and pure
Our mortal frailty can endure,