I will not mourn thee, lovely one,
 Though thou art torn away.
'Tis said that if the morning sun
 Arise with dazzling ray 
And shed a bright and burning beam
 Athwart the glittering main,
'Ere noon shall fade that laughing gleam
 Engulfed in clouds and rain.

And if thy life as transient proved,
 It hath been full as bright,
For thou wert hopeful and beloved;
 Thy spirit knew no blight.

If few and short the joys of life
 That thou on earth couldst know,
Little thou knew'st of sin and strife
 Nor much of pain and woe.

If vain thy earthly hopes did prove,
 Thou canst not mourn their flight;
Thy brightest hopes were fixed above
 And they shall know no blight.

And yet I cannot check my sighs,
 Thou wert so young and fair,
More bright than summer morning skies,
 But stern death would not spare;

He would not pass our darling by
 Nor grant one hour's delay,
But rudely closed his shining eye
 And frowned his smile away,

That angel smile that late so much
 Could my fond heart rejoice;
And he has silenced by his touch
 The music of thy voice.

I'll weep no more thine early doom,
 But O! I still must mourn
The pleasures buried in thy tomb,
 For they will not return.