She died when dawn was sweeping o'er the land,
When morning-glories lit the gleaming wall;
And one who watched her, holding her pale hand,
Whispered, 'Alas, that she should miss it all!'

The early sun, risen from his dark night,
Flamed his great banners when she went away;
And one said, 'Lo! at coming of the light
She has gone forth, and lost the beauteous day.'

But she, from her poor mortal house of pain
Gladly released, went singing to God's place,
And cried, 'Dear Lord, after the bleak world-rain,
I cannot bear the brightness of Thy face!'