It is not length of years which lends
The brightest loveliness to those
Whose memory with our being blends,
Whose love within our bosom glows.

The age we honour standeth not
In locks of snow, or length of days;
But in a life which knows no spot,
A heart which heavenly wisdom sways.

For wisdom taught by Heavenly Truth,
Unlike mere worldly wisdom, finds,
Its full maturity in youth,
Its antitype in infant minds.

Thus was this child made early wise,
Wise as those sages who, from far,
Beheld at once in Bethlehem's skies
The new-born Saviour's herald star.

No more could learning do for them
Than guide them in the path they trod;
And the same star of Bethlehem
Led this child's spirit to his God.

Well may his memory be dear,
Whose loss is still its sole alloy;
Whose happy lot dries every tear
With holy hope and humble joy.

“The brightest star in Morning's host”
Is that which shines in twilight skies;
“Scarce ris'n, in brighter beams 'tis lost,”
And vanishes from mortal eyes.

Its loss inspires a brief regret,
Its loveliness is unforgot;
We know full well 'tis shining yet,
Although we may behold it not.