On the Death of Anne Brontë

There's little joy in life for me, And little terror in the grave; I've lived the parting hour to see Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath, Wishing each sigh might be the last; Longing to see the shade of death O'er those beloved features cast.

The cloud, the stillness that must part The darling of my life from me; And then to thank God from my heart, To thank Him well and fervently;

Although I knew that we had lost The hope and glory of our life; And now, benighted, tempest-tossed, Must bear alone the weary strife.