The tomb stones at the grave yard stand tearing
Weeping in scripts that shudder the heart in mourn and in wailing
Here at a little garden around a tomb, This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
Contains all of life that once was vivid, sweet and innocent;
The angelic portrait of a child; the softest prattler that ever found a tongue,
She with the voice that was music; her words were a song;
Which now her image from the stone listening, smiling; it invoke sadness and cheers
Such a pretty face in complete harmony; composure of universal the spheres;
Wanton as unfledged life; nature beguiled charms
I watch the stone wondering what has brought her here; what harms;
Fair as young child, as soft and kind,
Words cannot express; fate that one wish it was refined
The short life so abruptly thwarted; once so generously had been given,
Not long toiled here on Earth, retired untimely to rest in Heaven;
Where they the shining Angels rise and descend
Spreading their wide white wings before the throne where is sited
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