Thoughts: On The Death Of My Grandchild Fanny Poem by Zebulon Rudulph

And all wept and bewailed her: but He said, weep not; she is not
dead, but sleepeth.

-Luke 8:52.

Oh true, 'she is not dead, but sleepeth-'
Her dust alone is here;
The spirit pure that Heavenward leapeth,
Hath gone to bliss fore'er.

'Twas but a fragile flower that lent
Its sweets to earth a day;
From Heaven's parterre 'twas kindly sent,
But 'twas not here to stay.

Weep not, fond mother, that lost one;
'Tis clasped in angel's arms-
From earth's dread trials passed and gone,
'Tis decked in seraph's charms.

See how it beckons thee to come,
And taste its rapture there;-
No longer linger o'er that tomb-
To join it let's prepare.