University of Virginia Library

THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.

Weep, all ye birds, ye bowers!
Ye friends, a vigil keep!
Send forth your tears, ye flowers!
All ye who knew her weep,
That she is gone who in your circle smil'd,
Far from her husband and her lovely child!

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The lov'd, the virtuous wife,
Has enter'd into rest;
Too weak for cares of life—
Call'd to her Father's breast;
While like a cherub her sweet babe appears,
And smiles, unconscious of a father's tears.
Her bounty cheer'd the poor,
Her hands the needy fed;
Now all her pains are o'er,
Now that sweet flower is dead,
And her glad spirit, borne on seraph's wing,
Attunes the Christian's harp where angels sing.