2.
Lying a-dying,--
Have done with vain sighing:
Life not lost but treasured,
God Almighty pleasured,
God's daughter fetched and carried,
Christ's bride betrothed and married.
Our tender little dove,
Meek-eyed and simple,
Our love goes home to Love:
There shall she walk in white,
Where God shall be the Light,
And God the Temple.
A bit abstract.
ReplyDeleteI haven't checked the date of this poem, but I wonder if it was written on the occasion of her sister's death--or some other woman close to her.
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