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Mrs. Rebecca Weston

"For so He giveth His beloved sleep."

She is not dead, but sleepeth;—
Ere long will the morning break,
When those we love who sleep in Him,
Shall from the dust awake.

She is not dead, but sleepeth;—
Soon, soon will the ransomed sing
O! grave, where is thy victory?
O! death, where is thy sting?

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