 | The harp and plow |  |
EPITAPH.
Beneath the verdant turf and valley's clod,From all the toils of life she slumbers well;
But in the bosom of her Father, God,
And in our faithful hearts she still shall dwell.
| The harp and plow | |
From all the toils of life she slumbers well;
But in the bosom of her Father, God,
And in our faithful hearts she still shall dwell.