"Her eyes are closed, she's cold as clay,"
And then their tears gush out again.

And stalwart men are dumb with grief,
And sorrow pales the sternest cheek,
While gentler women find relief,
In tears--more eloquent than speech.

Surely there is some fairer land,
Where friends who love each other here
Can dwell, united heart and hand,
Nor death nor separation fear.

Dear sister, dry thy flowing tears;
Fond father, raise thy drooping head;
Kind brothers, banish all your fears;
Your Mary sleeps--she is not dead,

The care-worn casket rests in dust,
The fadeless jewel wings its flight
To that fair land, we humbly trust,
To shine with ever glowing light.

For, on that ever-vernal shore,
When death's appalling stream is cross'd,
Your star will shine forevermore,
Your flower will bloom, untouch'd by frost.