Two women stood, and whispered low,
They thought "she'd go out with the day,"
They said, "the Deacon's wife went so."
And then they gently pitied him--
"It was a dreadful blow."

"But she was good, she was prepared,
She would be better off than here,"
And then they thought "'twas strange that he,
Her father, had not shed a tear,"
And then they talked of news, and all
The promise of the year.

Her father sat beside the bed,
Holding her cold hands tenderly,
And to the everlasting hills
He mutely turned his eyes away:
"My God, my Shelter, and my Rock,
Oh shadow me to-day!"

He knew not when she crossed the stream,
And passed into the land unseen,
So gently did she go from him
Into its pastures still and green;
Into the land of pure delight,
And Jordan rolled between.

Then knelt he down beside his dead,
His white locks lit with sunset's flame:
"My God! oh leave me not alone--