  'Tis sweet to think the pure ethereal being, Whose mortal form reposes with the dead, Still hovers round unseen, yet not unseeing, Benignly smiling o'er the mourner's bed! She comes in dreams, a thing of light and lightness I hear her voice, in still small accents tell Of realms of bliss, and never-fading brightness, Where those who lov'd on earth, together dwell. Yet, yet remain! till freed like thee, delighted, She spurns the thraldom of encumbering clay; Then as on earth, in tenderest love united, Together seek the realms of endless day! |
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