TEARS FOR THE DEAD. If tears availed to wake the dead If grief might call the lost-loved back- Should we forget thy glorious gain? Should tears be shed for thee! who now, In floods of pure and liquid light?- And sharing in their bless'd employ— Who tune their harps of shining gold To everlasting songs of joy! In that bless'd world no tears can dim Through all undying ages roll. Then should we mourn that thou art gone From world like ours, where griefs abound, To prove the brightness of that dawn, Where never dark'ning cloud is found? 25 No! loved one, no!-upon thy bier With life's dark snares encompassed ;— That, with the loved of God, on high, Thou dwellest in eternal day, Where tears are wiped from every eye, And grief and sighing flee away ELEGIAC. IN MEMORY OF JOHN NEWTON WILSON, OB. FEB. 23, 1844. ANOTHER Stricken from the roll of life! On earth No more shall he make with us his abode; The strife and turmoil of this mortal state! Of Earth's outpourings in the lap of man; No more bleak Winter's fierce and howling storm For him shall darken all without, to make Home's light within, by contrast, doubly bright! For him-alas, for us !-on earth, no more Shall be the converse sweet of loving friends, Endeared by kindly intercourse-for them, no more The warm outpourings of that heart, imbued With kindness, meekness, gentleness and love! Not now for him will Learning spread her page, For him so eagerly who conned it o'er! Or Science, with her rich and varied hoard, Tempt the inquiring mind, which wearied not Till now in the pursuit! Nor yet, for him, That high and holy calling, which he sought: To break the bread of life to hungry souls; To clothe the naked with the robe of truth; Reclaim the wandering-bind the broken heart, And whisper peace and pardon to the lost ;God's minister unto a dying world! We mourn That we on earth a friend have lost! We weep And yet In this would we rejoice:-That he has passed From his frail tenement of earthly dust, Home to the bosom of his Father, GOD! ELEGIA C. 29 His now the Father's many-mansioned houseHis the bright crown of glory-his the song Of that high multitude, no man can number, Of the redeemed, who stand before the throne, And rest not, day nor night, to tune their harps: TO HIM that loved and washed them from their sins; TO HIM that made them kings and priests to God; To HIM that sitteth on the throne-to HIM Be honour, blessing, glory, might and power, Forever and forevermore! We joy That he has gone where Death can never come, For there no more is sickness! Not there shine 3* |