OW she lies, who blest our eyes Through many a sunny day;
She may not smile, she will not rise-- The life hath past away!
Yet there is a world of light beyond, Where we neither die nor sleep-- She is there, of whom our souls were fond-- Then wherefore do we weep?
The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told In each glance of her glad bright eye;
And she lies pale, who was so bright, She scarce seemed made to die.
Yet we know that her soul is happy now, Where the saints their calm watch keep;
That angels are crowning that fair young brow-- Then wherefore do we weep?
Her laughing voice made all rejoice, Who caught the happy sound;
There was gladness in her very step, As it lightly touched the ground.
The echoes of voice and step are gone; There is silence still and deep:
Yet we know she sings by God's bright throne-- Then wherefore do we weep?
The cheek's pale tinge, the lid's dark fringe; That lies like a shadow there,
Were beautiful in the eyes of all-- And her glossy golden hair!
But though that lid may never wake From its dark and dreamless sleep,
She is gone where young hearts do not break-- Then wherefore do we weep?
That world of light with joy is bright, This is a world of woe:
Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight, Because we dwell below?
We will bury her under the mossy sod, And one long bright tress we'll keep;
We have only given her back to God-- Ah! wherefore do we weep?
