Mourn not for her, she sleeps in peace;
Her clay is her – her spirit’s flown –
Her goal is gained, the world’s release
And heaven’s eternal joys are known.

Death call’d; she shrank not from the call,
Whose presence makes the fearful quail;
For Christ, her guide, her light, her all,
Cheered her through ghat gloomy vale.

As friends around her, weeping, stand,
To see her called so soon above,
Through faith she viewed that holy land,
Where all is peace – where all is love.

No earthly tie can equal this;
The love of friends or children dear
Must all recede, as nothingness,
As God’s eternal joys draw near.

Then mourn her not – though loss to you,
To her the gain’s beyond compare;
A few short years to struggle through,
And you’ll be called to meet her there.

Author: P.

Signs of the Times
Volume 28, Number 23; December 1, 1860

Below are the songs that were made from the poem using AI. They are identified
by the genre of the music in paranthesis.