Page:Poems for Children Sigourney 1836.pdf/78

 

No more with us, his tuneful voice The hymn of praise shall swell, No more his cheerful heart rejoice To hear the Sabbath-bell.

Yet if in yon unclouded sphere, Amid a blessed throng, He warbles to his Saviour's ear The everlasting song,—

No more we'll mourn our buried friend, But lift the ardent prayer, And every wish and effort bend To rise and join him there.

 

Pale was the little polish'd brow That lately bloomed so fair, 