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passeth hence,—a friend from loving friends, A mother from her children. Time hath shed No frost upon her, and the tree of life Glows in the freshness of its summer prime.— Yet still she passeth hence: Her work on earth Soon done and well. Hers was the unwavering mind, The untiring hand in duty. Firm of soul And pure in purpose, on the eternal Rock Of Christian trust her energies reposed, And sought no tribute from a shadowy world. Her early hope and homage clave to God, When the bright skies, the untroubled founts of youth With all their song-birds, all their flowers rose up To tempt her spirit. So, in hours of pain He did remember her, and on her brow And in her breast the dove-like messenger Found peaceful home. Oh thou whom grieving love Would blindly pinion in this vale of tears, Farewell! It is a glorious flight for faith To trace thy upward path, above this clime Of change and storm. We will remember thee At thy turf-bed,—and 'mid the twilight hour Of solemn musing, when the buried friend Comes back so visibly, and seems to fill The vacant chair, our speech shall be of thee.