The Blessed Transition

By Lydia Howard Sigourney

Scarce on her cherish'd flowers
Sere Autumn's hand was laid,
Nor curling leaf, nor withering bud
Its ministry betray'd,
But an earnest eye, she rais'd on high
Where the blossom cannot fade.

Love had not wan'd, or pal'd,
Fast by her hearth it grew,
With healthful root, as when it drank
The earlest morning dew,
Yet she sought sublime, a purer clime,
For a Saviour's love she knew.

Peace, with a holy veil
Inwrapp'd her inmost thought,
Foiling the ceaseless shafts of pain
That still for victory sought,
So, scarce was hush'd the prayer that gush'd,
Ere an angel's praise she caught.