How beautiful she lies, upon her pure white bed,
While pale flowers o’er her brow a holy incense shed;
The eyelids tremble not, so peaceful is her rest,
That even her maiden heart lies silent in her breast.
Why o’er the sweet calm face, fond mother, dost thou weep?
Wouldst thou awake thy child from such a quiet sleep?
She is asleep with Him whose love alone is pure,
Within whose presence bliss shall evermore endure.
No grief, no care, no pain, can ever pierce her heart,
No loved voice say again, “sweet sister, we must part!”
The living waters sweet have quench’d her spirit’s thirst,
And on her soul the light of Holiness has burst.
Why weep we then for her whose days of pain are o’er?
Bright hands have wiped her tears, and she shall shed no more.
To agony and tears the brides of earth are given –
Oh, bless her, as she lies, the pure young bride of Heaven.
(Lydia Jane Wheeler Peirson)
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