586.

587.

1

There hosts of beauteous spirits,
Fair children of the earth,
Linked in bright bands celestial,
Sing of their human birth.

2 They sing of earth and heaven,-
Divinest voices rise

To God, their gracious Father,
Who called them to the skies:
They all are there,-in heaven,-
Safe, safe, and sweetly blest;
No cloud of sin can shadow
Their bright and holy rest.

S. M.

Death of a Young Girl.

WHAT though the stream be dead,
Its banks all still and dry!

It murmurs o'er a lovelier bed,
In air-groves of the sky.

2 What though our bird of light
Lie mute with plumage dim;
In heaven I see her glancing bright,
I hear her angel hymn.

3 True that our beauteous doe
Hath left her still retreat,
But purer now in heavenly snow,
She lies at Jesus' feet.

4 0 star! untimely set!

Why should we weep for thee!
Thy bright and dewy coronet
Is rising o'er the sea.

7s. M.

Dirge for an Infant.

WILSON.

ANONYMOUS.

1 LAY her gently in the dust;
Grievous task, but oh! ye must!
Hear the sentence, "earth to earth,

588.

Spirit to immortal birth ;"
Youthful, gentle, undefiled,
Angels nurture now the child!

2 Upward soaring, like the dove,
Bearing with her chains of love;
Not to draw her spirit back,
But to smooth her upward track:
Her, the youngest of thy fold,
Angels watch with love untold!

3 With the Rock of Ages trust,
That which was enshrined in dust;
Robed in ever-spotless white,
In an atmosphere of light,
By the never-failing springs
Rests she now her weary wings.

C. M.

Death of a Child.

1 THOU gavest, and we yield to thee,
God of the human heart!

H. BACCH

For bitter though grief's cup may be,
Thou givest but our part.

2 O, thou canst bid our grief be stilled,
Yet not rebuke our tears;

How large a place his presence filled!
How vacant it appears!

3 We mourn the sunshine of his smile,
The tendrils of his love;
Oh, was he loved too well the while
Ere he was called above?

4 Our chastened spirits bow in prayer,
And blend all prayers in one,
Give us the hope to meet him there,
When life's full task is done.

589.

C. M.

Death of the Young.

MRS. HEMANS.

1 CALM on the bosom of thy God,
Young spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with us thy footsteps trod
His seal was on thy brow.

2 Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!

They that have seen thy look in death,
No more may fear to die.

3 Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers,
Whence thy meek smile is gone;
But O, a brighter home than ours,
In heaven is now thine own.

590.

8s. & 7s. M.

S. F. SMITH.

Death of a Young Girl.

1 SISTER, thou wast mild and lovely,
Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening,
When it floats among the trees.

2 Peaceful be thy silent slumber-
Peaceful in the grave so low:
Thou no more wilt join our number;
Thou no more our songs shalt know.

3 Dearest sister, thou hast left us;
Here thy loss we deeply feel;
But 't is God that hath bereft us:
He can all our sorrows heal.

4 Yet again we hope to meet thee,
When the day of life is fled,

Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,
Where no farewell tear is shed.

591.

592.

8s. & 7s. M.

Burial of a Christian Brother.

BAP. MEMORIAL.

1 BROTHER, rest from sin and sorrow;
Death is o'er and life is won;

On thy slumber dawns no morrow:
Rest; thine earthly race is run.

2 Brother, wake; the night is waning;
Endless day is round thee poured;
Enter thou the rest remaining
For the people of the Lord.

3 Brother, wake; for he who loved thee,-
He who died that thou mightst live,-
He who graciously approved thee,-
Waits thy crown of joy to give.

4 Fare thee well; though woe is blending
With the tones of earthly love,

Triumph high and joy unending
Wait thee in the realms above.

Death of a Christian in his prime.

1 Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime, In full activity of zeal and power;

A Christian cannot die before his time,

The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour. 2 Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease; Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest task is done; Come from the heat of battle and in peace, Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won. 3 Go to the grave, for there thy Saviour lay In death's embraces, ere he rose on high; And all the ransomed, by that narrow way, Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.

4 Go to the grave:-no, take thy seat above;
Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord,
Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love,
And open vision for the written word.

593.

S. M.

MONTGOMERY

On the Death of an aged Christian.

"I have fought a good fight; I have finished my course."

1 SERVANT of God, well done!
Rest from thy loved employ:
The battle fought, the victory won,
Enter thy Master's joy.

The voice at midnight came,
He started up to hear;

A mortal arrow pierced his frame-
He fell, but felt no fear.

2 Tranquil amidst alarms,
It found him on the field,

A veteran slumbering on his arms,
Beneath his red-cross shield
His spirit, with a bound,
Burst its encumbering clay;
His tent, at sunrise, on the ground,
A darkened ruin lay.

3 The pains of death are past,
Labor and sorrow cease,

And, life's long warfare closed at last,
His soul is found in peace.

Soldier of Christ! well done!
Praise be thy new employ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest in thy Saviour's joy.

387