THERE is no flock however watched and tended

    But one dead lamb is there！

    There is no fireside howsoe'er defended

    But has one vacant chair！

    The air is full of farewells to the dying

    And mournings for the dead；

    The heart of Rachel for her children crying

    Will not be comforted！

    Let us be patient！ These severe afflictions

    Not from the ground arise

    But oftentimes celestial¹ benedictions²

    Assume this dark disguise.

    We see but dimly through the mists and vapors³；

    Amid these earthly damps

    What seem to us but sad funereal⁴ tapers⁵

    May be heaven's distant lamps.

    There is no Death！ What seems so is transition；

    This life of mortal breath

    Is but a suburb of the life elysian

    Whose portal we call Death.

    She is not dead —the child of our affection —

    But gone unto that school

    Where she no longer needs our poor protection

    And Christ himself doth rule.

    In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion⁶

    By guardian⁷ angels led

    Safe from temptation safe from sin's pollution

    She lives whom we call dead

    Day after day we think what she is doing

    In those bright realms of air；

    Year after year her tender steps pursuing

    Behold⁸ her grown more fair.

    Thus do we walk with her and keep unbroken

    The bond which nature gives

    Thinking that our remembrance though unspoken

    May reach her where she lives.

    Not as a child shall we again behold her；

    For when with raptures⁹ wild

    In our embraces we again enfold her

    She will not be a child；

    But a fair maiden¹⁰ in her Father's mansion¹¹

    Clothed with celestial grace；

    And beautiful with all the soul's expansion

    Shall we behold her face.

    And though at times impetuous with emotion

    And anguish¹² long suppressed

    The swelling¹³ heart heaves moaning like the ocean

    That cannot be at rest —

    We will be patient and assuage¹⁴ the feeling

    We may not wholly stay；

    By silence sanctifying not concealing¹⁵

    The grief that must have way.

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