The Young That Died In Beauty

If souls should only sheen so bright In heaven as in ethly light, An nothen better wer the cease, How comely still, in sheape an feace, Would many reach thik happy pleace, The hopevul souls that in their prime Ha seemd atook avore their time, The young that died in beauty. But when woones lims ha lost their strangth Atweilen drough a lifetimes langth, An over cheaks a-growen wold The slowly-weasten years ha rolld The deepnen wrinkles hollow vwold; When life is ripe, then death do call Vor less ov thought, than when do vall On young voks in their beauty. But pinen souls, wi heads a-hung In heavy sorrow vor the young, The sister ov the brother dead, The father wi a child avled, The husband when his bride ha laid Her head at rest, noo mwore to turn, Have all a-vound the time to murn Vor youth that died in beauty. An yeet the church, where prayer do rise Vrom thoughtvul souls, wi downcast eyes, An village greens, abeat half beare By dancers that do meet, an wear Such merry looks at feast an feair, Do gather under leatest skies, Their bloomen cheaks an sparklen eyes, Though young ha died in beauty. But still the dead shall mwore than keep The beauty ov their early sleep; Where comely looks shall never wear Uncomely, under tweil an' ceare. The feair at death be always feair, Still feair to livers thought an love, An feairer still to God above, Than when they died in beauty.