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Too pure for earth, too pure for earth,
Thy home the spirit-land,
Where earth-born flowers unfading smile,
Transferred by angel hand!


Yes, on thy brow the calm, bright skies
Of heaven their radiance shed:
The gift is thine, an angel's harp.
How blest the early dead!


From sorrow's vale uncheered and dark,
From tears and vain desires,
While young and sinless thou art freed,
The soul to heaven aspires.


But still thy name remains intwined
With memories ever dear,
And they who on thee oft have smiled
Now smile but through a tear.