Dost see in that cherub thy guardian angel Who was with thee below, and preceded thee there, Who, lovely on earth, is more lovely in Heaven, Who called thee impatient his glory to share?
Oh! fair gleams the marble in yonder sweet forest Which the hand of affection hath placed o'er thy grave; And constant the tribute of fresh blooming flowers By friendship entwined, and over thee laid.
Oh! sweet is the song that the wild bird is singing, And fair are the trees that wave over thy head, And soft are the shadows that sunset is flinging O'er thee and thy babe in thy low quiet bed.
Ever fresh in our hearts and remembrance are wrought The scenes of thy life in beautiful story; From the day that thou camest a joyous young bride, Till called by thy Saviour, partaker of glory.
That life seems a dream we delight to recall, So pure and so gentle thy sweet virtues shone; The graces of earth and graces of heaven, Like a mantle of beauty over thee thrown.
Thy fairy-like form is ever before us; Thy cheek where the rose and the lily combined; Thine eye of the dew-begemmed violet's color, Beaming with purity, goodness, and mind!
How gloomy seemed earth of thy presence bereft! How dark was the home by thy sunshine made gay! How crushed was the heart of the mourner thou'st left, The light of his life thus taken away!
But bright gleams the path that thy dear feet have trod, And light shone around thee through the dark river, And joy was 'mongst angels in presence of God, As they welcomed thee home forever and ever.
It may be, indeed, I am childless and vain, But I love the old relic of antiquate form; Like the surf-beaten vessel that furrows the main, It hath struggled and weathered through many a storm! Full well I remember it, when but a boy, The spot where 'twas placed by that matronly hand; And now I'm grown old, like a child with its toy, I love the old relic--my Grandmother's stand.
'Tis a "long time ago," though briefly it seems, Since I heard her dear lessons of virtue and truth; Oh, oh! that the Past would return with its dreams, And let me live over one day of my youth! Then I should sit down in that old-fashioned room, So simple, so artless, so rustically planned; Then I should bring roses, and drink their perfume, As they blushed in that vase on my Grandmother's stand.