Classic Poem

Oh ! weep not for the happy dead,
Your tears reproach the Lord;
To him her virgin soul was wed,
And strong in love, to him she fled
From mother's house, and parent's smiling board.

Alas! we cannot choose but weep,
For we are sore bereaven;
And all of her that we can keep
Is but an image on the deep,
The deep calm soul, that shews reflected heaven.

If angel spirits aught may know
Of hearts they left behind,
If e'er they cast a look below,
The sacrifice of pious woe
May yield a tender joy, even to the angel kind.