Grave on her monumental pile,
She won from vice, by virtue's smile,
Her dazzling crown, her sceptered throne,
Affection's wreath, a happy home.
The right to worship deep and pure,
To bless the orphan, feed the poor;
Last at the cross to mourn her Lord,
First at the tomb to hear his word.
To fold an angel's wings below,
And hover o'er the couch of woe,
To nurse the Bethlehem babe so sweet,
The right to sit at Jesus' feet.
To form the bud for bursting bloom,
The hoary head with joy to crown;
In short, the right to work and pray,
"To point to heaven and lead the way."
Republished from The Granite Monthly, for July, 1894, of Concord, N. H.
