From the Charlton, Iowa newspaper upon Flora's death:
Flora has thy angel spirit
Sought and found its genial clime?
Ah! methinks, ‘twere wrong to wish thee
Back upon the shores of time.
Yet, when o'er my sadden'd vision
Beams thy dark and loving eyes,
Breaths thy gentle voice so kindly,
Tears will flow that thou shouldst die.
Songs are sad that used to charm me,
Scenes once sweet are tinged with gloom;
Thought will whisper dessolation
O'er thy mournful, early tomb.
Flora, has thou yet forgotten,
Those whose souls were knit with thine?
Doubtless on thy raptured vision
Richest beams of glory shine.
Flora has thy angel spirit
Sought and found its genial clime?
Ah! methinks, ‘twere wrong to wish thee
Back upon the shores of time.
Yet, when o'er my sadden'd vision
Beams thy dark and loving eyes,
Breaths thy gentle voice so kindly,
Tears will flow that thou shouldst die.
Songs are sad that used to charm me,
Scenes once sweet are tinged with gloom;
Thought will whisper dessolation
O'er thy mournful, early tomb.
Flora, has thou yet forgotten,
Those whose souls were knit with thine?
Doubtless on thy raptured vision
Richest beams of glory shine.
From the Charlton, Iowa newspaper upon Flora's death:
Flora has thy angel spirit
Sought and found its genial clime?
Ah! methinks, ‘twere wrong to wish thee
Back upon the shores of time.
Yet, when o'er my sadden'd vision
Beams thy dark and loving eyes,
Breaths thy gentle voice so kindly,
Tears will flow that thou shouldst die.
Songs are sad that used to charm me,
Scenes once sweet are tinged with gloom;
Thought will whisper dessolation
O'er thy mournful, early tomb.
Flora, has thou yet forgotten,
Those whose souls were knit with thine?
Doubtless on thy raptured vision
Richest beams of glory shine.
Flora has thy angel spirit
Sought and found its genial clime?
Ah! methinks, ‘twere wrong to wish thee
Back upon the shores of time.
Yet, when o'er my sadden'd vision
Beams thy dark and loving eyes,
Breaths thy gentle voice so kindly,
Tears will flow that thou shouldst die.
Songs are sad that used to charm me,
Scenes once sweet are tinged with gloom;
Thought will whisper dessolation
O'er thy mournful, early tomb.
Flora, has thou yet forgotten,
Those whose souls were knit with thine?
Doubtless on thy raptured vision
Richest beams of glory shine.
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