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Rh 

is a joyful thing to die; For though this world is fair, I dream I see a lovelier one, And fancy I am there. Methinks that I am borne away As soon as I have died; And wander round a pleasant place, With an angel by my side.

To that bright world I long to go, I would not linger here; Except for gentle mother's sake, And yours, my sister dear. But when I read my book to her, And when I play with you, I quite forget that glorious land, And blessed Angel too.

Yet oft, when I am wearied grown Of reading and of play, These pleasant dreams come back again And steal my heart away. And then again I seem to wish, That mother, you, and I Could shut our eyes upon the world, And all together die.

Ah, brother! if indeed it be That heaven is so fair, 