Of christian-like demeanor,
Which ever brightly shone:

Of youth the guide and teacher,
Of age the stay and hope--
To all a faithful preacher,
To whom we all looked up.

She is not dead, she's sleeping,
Her loving Saviour said;
Then friends repress your weeping,
God's will must be obeyed.

She is not dead, she's shining
In robes of spotless white;
Why then are we repining?
God's ways are always right.

She is not dead--O never
Will sorrow cross her track;
She's passed Death's darksome river,
And who would have her back?

Back from the joys of heaven!
Back from that world of bliss!
Call back the pure, forgiven,
To such a world as this?

A world of grief and anguish--
A world of sin and strife--