In which the righteous languish,
And wickedness is rife,

She is not dead, she's shouting,
Borne on triumphant wing,
"O grave, where is thy vict'ry,
O Death, where is thy sting?"



LINES

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. BURNITE WHO DIED FEBRUARY 2, 1878.

Thou, my friend, in dust art sleeping,
Closed thine eyes to all below;
Round thy grave kind friends are weeping,
Ling'ring, loath to let thee go.

Husband fond and children dear,
Crushed and stricken by the blow,
Banish ev'ry anxious fear,
While we lay the lov'd one low.

For the angel's trump shall sound,
And the bands of death will break;
Then the pris'ner in this mound
Shall to endless life awake.

Then the spirit which is gone