But since, in all that brief Life's narrow scope, <br />No day pass'd by without some gentle deed, <br />Let us not 'mourn like them that have no hope,' <br />Though sharp the stroke,--and suddenly decreed; <br />For still, when Spring puts out her tender leaves, <br />And Nature's beauty seems to bud in vain, <br />(Since then the yearning spirit doubly grieves <br />With fresh remembrance of unconquer'd pain,) <br />Returns the precious memory of all <br />The grace and goodness of that creature fair, <br />Whom it pleased God in early days to call <br />From this dim world of trouble, toil, and care,-- <br />And seldom is such bless'd conviction given <br />That She we mourn on Earth is now a Saint in Heaven!<br /><br />Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xix-4/
