Now dwelleth with our God above[C]
That little one whose life was love,
Blessed little Fanny!


EMMA.

A floweret on the grassy mound
Of buried hopes sprang up;--
Tears fell upon its bursting leaves
And gemmed its opening cup.

But such a rosy sun-light fell
Upon those tear-drops there,
That no bright crystals of the morn
Such diamond-hues might wear.

No glancing wing of summer-bird
Was ever half so gay
As that fair flower--no insect's hues
Shone with such changeful play.

It nodded gaily to the touch
Of every wandering bee,
Its petals tossed in every breeze,
And scattered odors free.

And they who watched the pleasant plant
In its bright bursting bloom,
Hailed in its growth their bower of rest,--