html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }AS dawns the morning twilight gray,
The bell proclaims the festal day
Of faithful spirits fled;
The churchward path doth Hanna seek,
The tender tear bedews her cheek,
Her own lov’d Jan is dead.
And there where he had stood intent,
With looks of love upon her bent,
She mourns in secret meek;
Her hands are clasp’d, upcast her eyes,
Glist’ning with tears, towards the skies,
Her mute lips seem to speak.
But when the people hymns of praise
To God for parted spirits raise,
And “Rest in peace” resounds,
Sends Hanna too her voice above,
The Father of eternal love,
She knows, will heal her wounds.
When at the ending festival
Before the sacred altar all
For friends their offerings lay,
Hanna unclasps a heart of gold,
The gift of him, whom slumbers hold,
That pass no more away.
As back she to her cottage wends,
The sun into the height ascends,
Image of life to come;
And then doth Hanna upward gaze,
Amidst her tears a smile there plays,
She sees the lov’d one’s home!