We loved thee-yes, we loved thee,
But the angels loved thee too;
And so thou now art sleeping
'Neath the sky so bright and blue.

Sleeping now thy last long slumber,
In the low and quiet tomb,
Where life's ills can ne'er disturb thee-
Where sorrow ne'er can come.

What tho' our hearts are bleeding,
And our lonely spirits mourn,
That thou with Spring's sweet flow'rets
Wilt never more return,

We would not call thee back, dear friend,
To life's dull path again;
Where thorns amid the flowers,
Would often give thee pain;

But sweetly rest thee, dear one,
In thy long and dreamless sleep,
Nor heed the sighs above thee,
And the blinding tears we weep.