Oh! Take me to her dying bed,
To get her farewell kiss,
Ere she be numbered with the dead,
Or her immortal soul has fled
To realms of endless bliss. I gazed upon her palid cheek;
The rosy glow was gone;
But beauty still, tho' pale and meek,
Was there. I wept, and tried to speak,
And said, "Thou art my own."
I took her wasted hand in mine,
And held it to my heart;
She whispered, "Love, I still am thine,
And will be in our home divine,
Where we shall never part." "Ah! Do not leave me thus to grief, "
I said, and inly sighed;
"Weep not; remember life is brief,
And heaven brings a sure relief,
"Farewell!" she said, and died. The chill of death was on her brow;
A smile illumed her face,
Which told me she was happy now;
For, faithful to her sacred vow,
She sought redeeming grace. I knelt besides her lifeless clay,
And took my farewell kiss;
And then I longed to pass away,
To be with her, thro' endless day,
In yon bright home of bliss.
- S. Moore