poems.
71
THERE IS NO DEATH.
There is no death! 'Tis but a peaceful sleep,
Awaking in the presence of our God,
Crossing fields of bright Elysian,
By white-winged angels trod.
Awaking in the presence of our God,
Crossing fields of bright Elysian,
By white-winged angels trod.
There is no death! It is but waking
In the happy snow-white dress,
Golden harps forever fingering,
In the mansions of the blest.
In the happy snow-white dress,
Golden harps forever fingering,
In the mansions of the blest.
Weeping friends below: are gathered
Round the silent sleeping dead,
Missing sadly happy voices,
And the light and well-known tread.
Round the silent sleeping dead,
Missing sadly happy voices,
And the light and well-known tread.
Weeping, out of sore affliction,
For a little form so dear,
And the marble halls are vacant,
Vacant is the little chair.
For a little form so dear,
And the marble halls are vacant,
Vacant is the little chair.
