MRS. ELIZABETH HARRIS,

Oh sorrowing Daughter, left alone

In home's deserted sphere,

Where every object group'd around,

In pleasant room, or garden's bound

Is twined by links of sight or sound

With the lost Mother dear;

Yet take sweet thoughts thy grief to soothe

Of what she was below,

Her years to faithful duty given,

Her comfort in the Book of Heaven,

Her ready trust when life was riven,

To Christ, her Lord, to go.

And take sweet memories of the care

That smoothed her couch of pain,

The grateful love that o'er her way

Kept tender vigil, night and day,

And let its pure, reflected ray

Thy drooping heart sustain.

So shall thy faith the pang assuage

That heaves thy mourning breast;

For nearer brings each setting sun

Their blessed meeting who have won

The plaudit of the Judge, “Well done,

Come, enter to my rest.”