On The Death Of Anne Brontë

THERE 's little joy in life for me,
  And little terror in the grave ;
I 've lived the parting hour to see
  Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath,
  Wishing each sigh might be the last ;
Longing to see the shade of death
  O'er those belovèd features cast.

The cloud, the stillness that must part
  The darling of my life from me ;
And then to thank God from my heart,
  To thank Him well and fervently ;

Although I knew that we had lost
  The hope and glory of our life ;
And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,
  Must bear alone the weary strife.