Classic Poem

To see a dear one close her eyes,
With whom fond years have rolled away,
When, mounting to her kindred skies,
Her dying features sweetly play,

This is no light nor transient woe;
But there is hope to meet again,
And those warm drops, that streaming flow,
Are tears of joy as well as pain.

Yes, hope will cheer the widowed heart,
When weeping o'er the dear one's urn;
But who can hope or joy impart
To him whose love has no return?