Fannie

We dressed her in her bridal robesOf filmy texture rare,And orange blossoms gaily twinedAmid her shining hair;As in the joy of festal hours,Serene with hope and pride,We sent her forth in life's sweet morn,A loved and happy bride.

A few short months, there came a dayWhen up the village streetA strange procession wound its way,And hearts in sadness beat;For Fannie dear came back to usBy floral offerings hid,In wedding garments, as before,But 'neath her coffin lid.

"There is a Reaper," sang the choir,"Whose name is Death." How clearRang out the hymn, in solemn chant,Above her snow-white bier!And Bible words were read aboutThe New Jerusalem,Where God transplants our fairest flower!As He hath need of them.

A sadder welcome ne'er was givenTo one whose merry voice,As though it were but yesterday,Made all our hearts rejoice.A grave upon the sunny hill,A dear, familiar spot,Received the form that once was fullOf life, and love, and thought.

It seems as though a bird had flown,And its forsaken nestIs that sad home, so brief a timeBy her sweet presence blest;But, sorrow-stricken and bereft,To Heaven we raise our eyes,Where she, with angel plumage on,Now sings in Paradise.