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 beloved 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.