No more to grace the happy hearth,
To grace the cheerful board, no more
To light with smiles the misty path
That leads to the eternal shore,
Arrived— embarked, and all is o'er.
The sunny curl, the bright blue eye,
The form, the soul are gone before,
And we must follow on, and die.

And she, the aged one, bereaved,
Sits lonely in a daughter's chair,
Submissive to God's will, yet grieved,
Raising to Heaven the silent prayer;
Her faith and love and hopes are there —

But where are yours? and where are mine?
The prospect, is it bright or drear?
The comfort, human or divine?