And there thou 'rt sure to meet the good, Whom on earth thou lovedst best, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest. "Earth to earth," and "dust to dust," Where the wicked cease from troubling, And when the Lord shall summon us As sure a welcome find; May each, like thee, depart in peace, To be a glorious guest, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest. H. H. Milman CXLI AN EPITAPH RECEYE him, quih, justo let that ECEIVE him, earth, unto thine harboring shrine; These limbs of man I to thy care consign, This house was once the mansion of a soul Its Maker shall not leave it in the grave; I. Williams, from Prudentius CXLII FEAR OF DEATH MISERABLE man, Who hath all the world to friend, Yet dares not in prosperity Remember his latter end! But happy man, whate'er His earthly lot may be, That shall set his spirit free, Of immortality. R. Southey CXLIII ALL SAINTS' DAY The gathering of the Dead HE day is cloudy; it should be so : THE And the clouds in flocks to the eastward go; Like the shock of an earthquake underground, As soft and deep as a summer ocean. For the cross and the crown are won, Sweet songs may bring Through the half-unfolded leaves of May; But the breeze of spring Hath no such thing As the musical sounds that run Where the anthem note by God is given, And the martyrs sing, And the angels ring With the cymbals of highest Heaven. Where angels over the bodies keep The shock and the thrill of life have run: Where the simoon blast hath fiercely past From sea to sea, from shore to shore, Left in this waste and desert place, O, my God! that we could be The Church withdraws the veil, While good church-bells are loudly ringing All on the earth below, And white-robed choirs with angels singing, Where stately organs blow: And up and down each holy street Faith hears the tread of viewless feet, Such as in Salem walked, when He Until the Judge himself be here ! F. W. Faber CXLIV EPITAPH IN WORCESTER CATHEDRAL IF flowers migh their balm bestow, F Heavenly flowers might bloom unharmed on earth, Thy gentle virtues, rich in purest worth, Might yet have lingered in our vale below; Loved daughter, sister, friend: we saw awhile But He whose spirit breathes the air divine, John Davison |