Epitaph For A Young Lady Poem by Carolyn Clive

YOUTH, beauty, love, a mother's joy divine,
A wife's, a daughter's blessings, all were thine;
These didst thou change for heaven's immortal breath,
After a short unconscious strife with death.
How blest!--O mourners o'er her funeral urn,--
(And hearts that suffer cannot choose but mourn),
Seek not to call your anguish ease, as they
Who strive with words to drive their grief away;
But be ye patient, humble, and, as One
Of an immortal God the mortal Son,
Who weeps man's solemn hour of storm and gloom,
But sees the daylight dawn beyond the tomb.