My Mother.
I think of her now,
In that land of the blest;
At home with her saviour,
Forever at rest.
I think of her now,
As an angel of light;
Who beholds me at will,
Tho 'veiled from my sight
Now free is the spirit
That's soaring away;
Once bound to earth
In a prison of clay.
As she mingles in rapture
With the glorified throng;
Singing anthems of praise
As they're wafted along.
Elizabeth (Springer) Phillips