How beautiful in death
The young and lovely sleeper lies —
Sweet calmness on the close-sealed eyes,
Flowers o'er the snowy neck and brow
Where lustrous curls profusely flow;
If‘ twere not for the icy chill
That from her marble hand doth thrill,
And for her lip that gives no sound,
And for the weeping all around,
How beautiful were death.
How beautiful in life!
Her pure affections heavenward moving,
Her guileless heart so full of loving,
Her joyous smile, her form of grace,
Her clear mind lighting up the face,
And making home a blessed place,
Still breathing thro’ the parents’ heart
A gladness words could ne'er impart,
A faith that foil'd affliction's dart —
How beautiful her life.
Gone to the Better Land!
Before the world's cold mist could shade
The brightness on her spirit laid,
Before the autumnal breeze might fray
One leaflet from her wreath away,
Or crisp one tendril of the vine
That hope and happiness did twine —
Gone — in the soul's unfaded bloom
That dreads no darkness of the tomb —
Gone to the Better Land.