Christian Worship Death Of A Young Girl.
What though the stream be dead,
Its banks all still and dry!
It murmurs o’er a lovelier bed,
In air-groves of the sky.
What though our bird of light
Lie mute with plumage dim;
In heaven I see her glancing bright,
I hear her angel hymn.
True that our beauteous doe
Hath left her still retreat,
But purer now in heavenly snow,
She lies at Jesus’ feet.
O star! untimely set!
Why should we weep for thee!
Thy bright and dewy coronet
Is rising o’er the sea.