Funeral Dirge

Lift not, lift not the shadowy pall
From the beauteous form it veileth;
Nor ask, as the offerings of sorrow fall,
Who it is that the mourner waileth!

We could not look on a face so dear,
With the burial gloom surrounding,
A name so cherished we must not hear,
While her funeral knell is sounding!

But seek with the throng of the young and fair
Their loveliest still to number;—
You will find her not! for 't is her we bear
In the mansion of death to slumber!

She shone to our sight like a gladdening ray
Of light, that awhile was given
To brighten the earth, and has passed away,
Undimmed, to its source in heaven!