C. M. Mrs. Hemans. Death of the Young. |
1 Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now! E'en while with us thy footstep trod, His seal was on thy brow. 2 Dust, to its narrow house beneath! Soul, to its home on high! They that have seen thy look in death No more may fear to die. 3 Lone are the paths, and sad the hours, Since thy meek spirit's gone; But, O, a brighter home than ours, In heaven, is now thine own!
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