Tho' death met love upon thy dying smile,
And staid him there for hours, yet the orbs of sight
So speedily resign'd their aspect bright,
That Christian hope fell earthward for awhile,
Appall'd by dissolution:--But on high
A record lives of thine identity!
Thou shalt not lose one charm of lip or eye;
The hues and liquid lights shall wait for thee,
And the fair tissues, wheresoe'er they be!
--Daughter of heaven! our grieving hearts repose
On the dear thought that we once more shall see
Thy beauty--like Himself our Master rose--
So shall that beauty its old rights maintain,
And thy sweet spirit own those eyes again.