To the Hon. Miss Crewe
WITH THE EMIGRANT'S GRAVE .
Soon the tear shall be dry, soon the flow'r shall be sere,
Which mourners on earth to these ashes have giv'n,
But Heav'n from thy lips the sad story will hear,
For music like thine is the language of Heav'n!
Oh! then shall this turf-bed with flow'rs ever crown'd,
And with tears ever dew'd, time's inclemency brave,
For hands more than mortal will garden the ground,
And angels will weep o'er the Emigrant's Grave.
Soon the tear shall be dry, soon the flow'r shall be sere,
Which mourners on earth to these ashes have giv'n,
But Heav'n from thy lips the sad story will hear,
For music like thine is the language of Heav'n!
Oh! then shall this turf-bed with flow'rs ever crown'd,
And with tears ever dew'd, time's inclemency brave,
For hands more than mortal will garden the ground,
And angels will weep o'er the Emigrant's Grave.
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