The Epitaph

Fair was her form, serene her mind, Her heart and hopes were fix'd on high: Her hand beneficent and kind Oft wip'd the tear from sorrow's eye. The sweets of friendship soften'd care; Love, peace, and joy, her soul possest: Meekness perfum'd each rising pray'r, And ev'ry rising pray'r was blest. In heav'n we trust, her sainted spirit sings Glad Hallelujahs to the King of Kings.