STANZAS.

Thou'rt gone, thou lovely gem, I trust To grace the crown of Zion's King; And we thy body to the dust Commit with faith unwavering.

Thou wast just long enough with us To charm our hearts and claim our low; And now thou'rt gone. Why is it thus? Did Jesus need thy soul above?

For twenty weeks thy lovely face, Thy pleasing smiles, thy temper mild, Have made thy father hope to trace The mother in her darling child.

And yet thou hast for some time seemed Too fair a flower to bloom below. Thy death but proves our Father deemed It best that thou in Heaven should'st grow.

And knowing, as I well may know That this vain world is full of trial, I would not say against the blow, Though it may cause me self-denial.

Now, while I write, my thoughts ascend More fleetly than the lightning's flame To that blest place where lowly bend God's saints, In worship of his name.

And there methinks I see thee join With mother and a numerous throng. In praise of Him who is Divine, To whom all honor does belong.

Why should we grudge to part with thee? Thou went our Heavenly father's own; And he far better knows than we What's best to do, as will be shown.

And yet it seems so hard to part —, To part with those we love so dearly, That, though the keenness of the smart Is gone through Jesus’ death most clearly,

We cannot help but mourn and weep At losing for a time such treasure. But we'll, rejoice that those who sleep In Christ, shall, in unbounded measure,

Enjoy true happiness and peace In yon fair World, where pain not tears. Are either felt or seen; where cease All sorrow and perplexing fears,