She is lying in state, this fair June day,
While the bee from the rose its sweetness sips;
Her heart thrills not at the lark's clear lay,
Though a smile illumines her pallid lips.

What glorified form did the Angel of Death
Assume to her view, that it left the bright trace
Of a jubilant welcome, whose icy breath
Froze the sunny smile on her fair young face?

Did angels with snow-white wings come down
And hover about her dying bed?
Did they bear a white robe, and a starry crown
To place on their sainted comrade's head?

Did her gaze rest on valleys and pastures green,
Where roses in beauty supernal, bloom?
Where lilies in snowy and golden sheen
Fill the air with their heavenly, rare perfume?

Did strains of sweet music her senses entrance
While Earth, with her loved ones, receded in air?
Did friends who had left it, to greet her, advance
And joyfully lead her to dwell with them, there?

Did she cross the deep Jordan without any fears
For all were now calmed on her dear Saviour's breast?
On pinions of light did she mount to the spheres
Where all is contentment, and pleasure, and rest?

All this we may humbly and truly believe,
For Christ to the Bethany sisters did give
The comforting promise, which all may receive:
'He that believeth, though dead, yet shall live.'