My Mother! With the angels now,
Life's race completely run;
The Pilgrim's cross is laid aside,
The Christian's crown is won.

Full two-score years has thy frail bark
Relentlessly been driven,
Along the rugged shoals of time-
Now safely moored in heaven.

Some vision bright of Eden's land-
Some glimpse from Nebo's crest-
So ravished thy enraptured soul,
Then panting for its rest,

That when the City bathed in gold
Full burst upon your sight,
You would not tarry with us more;
Your spirit took its flight.

My Mother, when life's sands run low,
In love, in kindness come,
And take the spirit of thy child,
And bid her 'welcome home.'