But one dead lamb is there！
There is no fireside howsoe'er defended
But has one vacant chair！
The air is full of farewells to the dying
And mournings for the dead；
The heart of Rachel for her children crying
Will not be comforted！
Let us be patient！ These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors；
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no Death！ What seems so is transition；
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead —the child of our affection —
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion
By guardian angels led
Safe from temptation safe from sin's pollution
She lives whom we call dead
Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air；
Year after year her tender steps pursuing
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives
Thinking that our remembrance though unspoken
May reach her where she lives.
Not as a child shall we again behold her；
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her
She will not be a child；
But a fair maiden in her Father's mansion
Clothed with celestial grace；
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean
That cannot be at rest —
We will be patient and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay；
By silence sanctifying not concealing
The grief that must have way.