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Death? nothing half so sweet,
So sacred, and so calm;
But feverish cares that eat
The soul, and find no balm;
Envy, and pride, and fashion's strife,
That take the holiest bloom from life.
So sacred, and so calm;
But feverish cares that eat
The soul, and find no balm;
Envy, and pride, and fashion's strife,
That take the holiest bloom from life.
Not such, not such wert thou,
With thy young sainted brow,
Speaking of purer things;
Thy smiles that breathed of peace,
Not from a world like this—
Such as it never brings!
With thy young sainted brow,
Speaking of purer things;
Thy smiles that breathed of peace,
Not from a world like this—
Such as it never brings!
In its polluted throng,
I saw thee move along,
As of a holier sphere;
And Heaven, which marked its own,
Called to a loftier throne,
Forbade thy lingering here.
I saw thee move along,
As of a holier sphere;
And Heaven, which marked its own,
Called to a loftier throne,
Forbade thy lingering here.
Ah yes! I joy to know
That thou art saved from these
Cares, doubts, and vanities,
And even deeper woe;
The world, the world can never thrill
That young heart with one pang of ill!
That thou art saved from these
Cares, doubts, and vanities,
And even deeper woe;
The world, the world can never thrill
That young heart with one pang of ill!
