Death of the Young.
1 Calm on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with us thy footstep trod,
His seal was on thy brow.
2 Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its home on high!
They that have seen thy look in death
No more may fear to die.
3 Lone are the paths, and sad the hours,
Since thy meek spirit's gone;
But, O, a brighter home than ours,
In heaven, is now thine own!