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BIOGRAPHY OF LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON.
Though the halls of thy childhood now mourn thee in vain,
And thy strains shall ne'er waken their echoes again,—
Still o'er the fond memory they silently glide,
Still, still thou art ours, and America's pride.
Sing on, thou pure seraph, with harmony crowned,
And pour the full tide of thy music along;
O'er the broad arch of heaven the sweet note shall resound,
And a bright choir of angels shall echo the song.
The pure elevation which beamed from thine eye,
As it turned to its home in yon fair azure sky,
Told of something unearthly; it shone with the light
Of pure inspiration and holy delight.
Round the rose that is withered a fragrance remains;
O'er beauty in ruins the mind proudly reigns.
Thy lyre has resounded o'er ocean's broad wave,
And the tear of deep anguish been shed o'er thy grave;
But thy spirit has mounted to mansions on high,
To the throne of its God, where it never can die."
And thy strains shall ne'er waken their echoes again,—
Still o'er the fond memory they silently glide,
Still, still thou art ours, and America's pride.
Sing on, thou pure seraph, with harmony crowned,
And pour the full tide of thy music along;
O'er the broad arch of heaven the sweet note shall resound,
And a bright choir of angels shall echo the song.
The pure elevation which beamed from thine eye,
As it turned to its home in yon fair azure sky,
Told of something unearthly; it shone with the light
Of pure inspiration and holy delight.
Round the rose that is withered a fragrance remains;
O'er beauty in ruins the mind proudly reigns.
Thy lyre has resounded o'er ocean's broad wave,
And the tear of deep anguish been shed o'er thy grave;
But thy spirit has mounted to mansions on high,
To the throne of its God, where it never can die."
