Julia A. Moore

The Sweet Singer of Michigan


UNFORTUNATE

Fold her hands upon her breast,
      And let her sweetly sleep.
She has found a perfect rest,
      Beneath her winding sheet.

Her weary limbs are now at rest,
      And free from toil and pain;
Her weary soul from earth has left,
      But in Heaven lives again.

Death has closed her mild blue eyes,
      That once was full of mirth,
Her lovely form once full of life,
      Will now return to earth.

Touch her gently, let her lie,
      This forsaken girl forlorn;
Tears may fall from strangers' eyes,
      O'er her silent form.

She was a poor erring girl,
      A wanderer alone,
Friends she had none in this world,
      Nor a place she could call home.

She's found a home bright and fair
      In that world above,
Angels dwell together there,
      In perfect peace and love,

Place her gently in her grave,
      And let her sweetly sleep.
Judge her not; for he who gave
      Her life, her soul will keep.


Reprinted from The Sweet Singer of Michigan: Poems by Mrs. Julia A. Moore ,
ed. Walter Blair (Chicago: Pascal Covici, 1928).
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