Not with the common forms of funeral grief We mourn for her who in the tomb this day Taketh her narrow couch. For we have need Of such example as she set us here,
The sphere of christian duty beautified By gifts of intellect, and taste refined; A precious picture, set in frame of gold And hung on high.
Hers was a life that bore The test of scrutiny, and they who saw Its inner ministration, day by day, Bore fullest witness to its symmetry,
Its delicate tissues, and unwavering crown Of piety. A heritage of fame, And the rich culture of her early years Wrought no contempt for woman's household care,
But gave it dignity. Order was hers, And system, and an industry that weighed The priceless value of each fleeting hour. Hers was a charm of manner felt by all,
A reference for authorities that marked The olden time, and that true courtesy Which made the aged happy. Scarce it seemed
That she was of their number, or the links Of threescore years and ten, indeed had wound Their coil around her, with such warmth the heart, And cloudless mind retained their energies.
Beauty and grace were with her to the last, And fascination that withheld the guest Beyond the allotted time. More would we say,
But her affections‘ tis not ours to touch In lays so weak. He of their worth might tell, Whose dearest hopes so long with hers entwined, And they who shared the intense maternal love,
That knew no pause of effort, no decay, No weariness, but glazed the dying eye With heaven-born lustre. So, we bid farewell;
Friend and Exemplar, we who tread so close In thine unechoing footsteps. Be thy faith As strong for us, when we the bridge shall pass
To the grand portal of Eternity.
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