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Look down from their bright home of rest,
 On those who linger here;
Surely my woe thou would'st relieve
And tell me 'tis in vain I grieve,
 And shed the sorrowing tear;
That to this world of care and pain,
'Twere wrong to wish thee back again.

And I shall often vainly watch
 Thy coming form to see;
And listen that light step to catch,
 Which comes no more to me.
But never on my waking ear
Will sound that voice I lov'd to hear,
 Which oft spoke cheeringly;
And bade me cease to weep and sigh,
When thine own eyes were far from dry.