ORIGINAL POETRY.
"SHE ISJTOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPETH." jit, Why do I weep ? she does but sleep, While loving angel arms enfold her. Why do I mourn ? lin my turn Shall follow and again behold her. She from my side, tho' scarce a bride, "Was called to swell the heavenly number ; And there, among the happy throng, She lives, and leaves the clay to slumber. Our wedded life, O angel wife, Was sadly brief and full of sonow ; But even now a bride art thou Whose day of joy will know no morrow. Peace, peace, my heart ! why dost thou start, And set the pulses madly beating? 'Twas not her moan— 'twas but my own Wild fancy her last sighs repeating. To Him who knows my heart's deep throes. Since He was pleased our loves to sever ; With anspiish sigh I humbly cry, Thy will, O God, be done for ! Petto.
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Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 161, 9 March 1871, Page 7
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150ORIGINAL POETRY. Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 161, 9 March 1871, Page 7
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