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