Green be the turf o'er thy head,
Light lie the earth on thy breast,
Peaceful and calm be thy sleep,
Till thou'rt called to rejoice with the blest.
Though we weep, yet we joy at thy lot,
Though we mourn thee, we yet can resign,
Though we sorrow, 'tis not without hope,
Though we lose thee, forbear to repine.
From the cares and the pains of this world
Thy beatified spirit is free,