With flowing tears, dear cherished one,
We lay thee with the dead;
And flowers, which thou didst love so well,
Shall wave above thy head.

Sweet emblems of thy dearer self,
They find a wintry tomb;
And at the south wind’s gentle touch,
Spring forth to life and bloom.

Thus, when the sun of righteousness
Shall gild thy dark abode,
Thy slumb’ring dust shall bloom afresh,
And soar to meet thy God.

~Sarah Mower

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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