O bring a robe of snowy white,
And fold it lightly o'er her breast;
Cold and pulseless now it lies,
The sainted spirit's sunk to rest;

And gently fold the toil-worn hands,
And softly close the weary eyes;
Life's rugged journey now is past,
And calm in death's cold sleep she lies.

That gentle heart has ceas'd to feel
The gushings of a mother's love;
But now a purer, holier flame,
Springs up in brighter realms above.

And mother, though the tender tie
Uniting us, has thus been riven,
May we not feel a stronger bond
Drawing our trusting hearts to heaven?

Now oft when evening's shadows steal
Across my path, thy voice I hear;
Again its well remember'd tones
Seem murmuring on my childish ear.

And oft, when sorrow fills my breast,
And my worn spirit turns from earth,
There comes a gentle, well known voice,
Whisp'ring of the spirit's birth.

'Twas hers to guide our infant feet
In wisdom's straight and narrow way,
To lead us to a Saviour's cross,
And teach our infant lips to pray.

But now how blissful is her state,
Free from this cumb'rous, earthly clod,
Her ransom'd spirit fill'd with praise,
Joins the pure throngs that worship God.

She's join'd her children in their home,
In those bless'd mansions far away,
Where sin nor death can ever come,
But all is bright, eternal day.

And though our mother's pass'd from earth,
An angel bending from the skies,
Is ever hov'ring o'er our path,
Urging our weary souls to rise.

Then let us her sweet precepts take,
Tread in the paths our mother trod,
Walk prayerfully the narrow way.
Directed by the word of God,

Cleans'd by a dying Saviour's blood,
We may obtain the promis'd rest;
And when we pass away from earth,
Join our dear mother with the bless'd.

Peace to thy memory, mother dear,
Sweet be thy slumber in the tomb,
'Till Christ in judgment shall appear,
And call His ransom'd children home.