The years are passing, but their changes

Do not allay our pain;

For oft in the hush of the twilight hour

We hear her loving voice again.

We hear her step on the floor beside us,

We turn to greet her there,

And as we would take her outstretched hand

We only meet—a vacant chair.

We wander with noiseless step

Again in her silent room;

There are her pictures and her books,

But, alas! they're shrouded in gloom.

No speaking eye is there to see

The beauty of earth or sky;

No melody cheers our sadness

But the song bird's floating by.

We think of the pupils whom she loved,

And taught with a teacher's pride;

They too will fondly remember

The days spent by her side.

Oh death! why did you rob us

Of the treasure we held so dear?

Why did you enter again our household

Claiming another victim here?

Why was the work so quickly ended,

Of a short but useful life?

For she lived not for herself alone

Amid this busy world of strife.

"Simply to the cross she clung"

As she stemmed the rolling tide—

With full assurance in her faith,

We know she lived and died.

The tears in our eyes are gathering,

But we brush them sadly away;

For afar in the distant future,

We see an unclouded day.

Yes, there we shall bind again,

These sundered broken bands;

There with the dearly loved and lost,

We'll meet with clasping hands.

We rejoice in the promise left us,

That she has only gone before,

For soon we shall win our crown of joy,

Across the vale on the other shore.