And thou art gone, Alberta,
No sound shall wake thee now;
The dreamless sleep thou sleepest,
Death's shadow on thy brow.

Like a bright summer flower.
Borne by rude winds away,
Whose odors yet shall linger,
Though the fair form decay,—

So, long thy spirit, wafted
In fragrance back to earth,
Shall bloom in memory's bowers,
Mid plants of heavenly birth.

We tune our harps to sadness,
And songs of sorrow sing,
And to the Father's altar,
A mournful tribute bring.

No more thou strowest flowers
Of sunshine o'er our path;
Thy song forever silent,
Thy voice is hushed in death.

Yet not for thee we sorrow,
Thy sorrows all are o'er;
Thine earthly journey ended,
Thou'st reached that happy shore,

Where spirits blest are waiting,
To welcome thee above;
There evermore to lead thee
In realms of peace and love.

And hand in hand with angels,
Around God's throne to stand,
Warbling sweet anthems ever,
Amid that heavenly band.

Farewell! we would not wake thee,
'T were vain to wish thee here;
A Father's arms receive thee,
Sleep on, nor danger fear.

Rise! and in Jesus' kingdom
Thy blissful station take;
A Father's house is open,
To life immortal wake!

OBT. Alberta Richardson, aged 8 years and 4 mos.; a beloved member of the 2nd Universalist Sabbath school.