Lydia Huntley Sigourney

First Anniversary of the Death of the Rev. Mr. Hooker

Sad o'er thy damp and lonely bed,
    The herbage springs, the long grass sighs,
The sculptur'd stone erects its head,
    And sorrow lifts her tearful eyes.

But ah! the guise of woe, how vain,
    The sculptur'd stone, the mourner's tear,
To him who scap'd this world of pain,
    Smiles calmly in a purer sphere.