November, 1847

O for one word of that Almighty voice,
Whose tone, though gentle, pierced the ear of death —
TALITHA, CUMI! O that He might stand
Above this faded flower, and breathe back life!
Was there no way, my sister dear, but this —
That in the fulness of thy life of love,
Expanding duties, daily strengthening ties, —
And with this new-born treasure lately found,
Thou must drop off and die? Mysterious God —
In whose high hearing nothing Thou hast made
But sounds in heavenly harmony entire —
Teach us the master-note, that may reduce
To concord this heart-breaking dissonance —
Shine on us with that Sun, whose mighty rays
Have shone upon our sister, so that all
Left on this earth, though dear a thousand-fold
To her, whose heart is filled with purest love,
Moves not one sigh, — so blessed is she now.