"Epitaph." by Jane Taylor (1783-1824)
WHILE o'er this dear remain affection weeps,
A voice proclaims–"She is not dead, but sleeps:"
Jesus again descending from the skies
Shall break her slumbers, saying–"Maid arise;"
Then gently lead her to her Father's feet,
With kind command to give her angel's meat,
Assured in hope, we wait the promised hour,
'T is sown in weakness–it is raised in power.