When faith, endued from heaven with | 2 If life be not in length of days, power, Sustains and cheers his languid breast. 3 Mark but that radiance of his eye, That smile upon his wasted cheek : They tell us of his glory nigh, In language that no tongue can speak. 4 Who would not wish to die like those Whom God's own Spirit deigns to I bless? To sink into that soft repose, Then wake to perfect happiness? 1105 BATHURST. L. M. morn, But withers in the rising day, Thus lovely was this infant's dawn, AY why should friendship grieve 2 It died ere its expanding soul. SAY for those Had ever burnt with wrong desires, Had ever spurned at heaven's control, Or ever quenched its sacred fires. Yet the sad hour that took the boy Perhaps has spared a heavier doom; Snatched him from scenes of guilty joy, Or from the pangs of ills to come. He died to sin; he died to care; But for a moment felt the rod; Then, rising on the viewless air, Spread his light wings, and soared to God. 1108 CUNNINGHAM. L. M. H, stay thy tears; for they are Whose days are past, whose toil is done; Here midnight care disturbs our rest; Here sorrow dims the noonday sun. 2 How blest are they whose transient | 2 The evening cloud, the morning dew, The withering grass, the fading years 5 Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet, I 2 3 II14 MUHLENBERG. L. M. UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb, Take this new treasure to thy And give these sacred relics room, Rest here, blest saint, till from his throne The morning break, and pierce the shade. There sweet be my rest, till he bid me 4 Break from his throne, illustrious 2 Are we not tending upward, too, As fast as time can move? Nor would we wish the hours more slow, To keep us from our love. 3 Why should we tremble to convey 4 The graves of all the saints he blessed, 5 4 Then let our sorrows cease to flow,God has recalled his own; I 2 3 4 5 With all I hold most dear; And life, with its best hopes, will then As nothingness appear. There is an hour when I must sink Beneath the stroke of death; And yield to him who gave it first, My struggling vital breath. There is an hour when I must stand Before the judgment-seat ; And all my sins, and all my foes, In awful vision meet. There is an hour when I must look And nameless woe, or blissful life, My endless portion be. O Saviour, then, in all my need Be near, be near to me; And let my soul, by steadfast faith, 3 Their toils are past, their work is done, 2 "Princes, this clay must be your bed, And they are fully blest: They fought the fight, the victory won, And entered into rest. In spite of all your towers; The tall, the wise, the reverend head, Must lie as low as ours." |