76
POEMS.
A few short months, there came a day
When up the village street
A strange procession wound its way,
And hearts in sadness beat;
For Fannie dear came back to us
By floral offerings hid,
In wedding garments, as before,
But 'neath her coffin lid.
When up the village street
A strange procession wound its way,
And hearts in sadness beat;
For Fannie dear came back to us
By floral offerings hid,
In wedding garments, as before,
But 'neath her coffin lid.
"There is a Reaper," sang the choir,
"Whose name is Death." How clear
Rang out the hymn, in solemn chant,
Above her snow-white bier!
And Bible words were read about
The New Jerusalem,
Where God transplants our fairest flower!
As He hath need of them.
"Whose name is Death." How clear
Rang out the hymn, in solemn chant,
Above her snow-white bier!
And Bible words were read about
The New Jerusalem,
Where God transplants our fairest flower!
As He hath need of them.
A sadder welcome ne'er was given
To one whose merry voice,
As though it were but yesterday,
Made all our hearts rejoice.
A grave upon the sunny hill,
A dear, familiar spot,
Received the form that once was full
Of life, and love, and thought.
To one whose merry voice,
As though it were but yesterday,
Made all our hearts rejoice.
A grave upon the sunny hill,
A dear, familiar spot,
Received the form that once was full
Of life, and love, and thought.
