As fades this mortal life of few frail days,
Thus one by one we drop into the tomb;
Yet, 'midst the darkness of th' impending gloom,
Still memory feebly sheds some lingering rays;
And for a moment dying fancy plays
'Mid the young hours of life's unclouded bloom,
Feels on her cheek the summer's noontide blaze,
And smiles amid the darkness of her doom.
Smile on, thou mourner of departed time;
If not unblest to thee those moments sped;
If rich in toils to win a purer clime,
Fear not the slumber of the quiet dead;
And gaze in calmness on this sacred dust;
Her life was virtue and her death was trust.

As fades this mortal life of few frail days,
Thus one by one we drop into the tomb;
Yet, 'midst the darkness of th' impending gloom,
Still memory feebly sheds some lingering rays;
And for a moment dying fancy plays
'Mid the young hours of life's unclouded bloom,
Feels on her cheek the summer's noontide blaze,
And smiles amid the darkness of her doom.
Smile on, thou mourner of departed time;
If not unblest to thee those moments sped;
If rich in toils to win a purer clime,
Fear not the slumber of the quiet dead;
And gaze in calmness on this sacred dust;
Her life was virtue and her death was trust.