Imágenes de páginas
PDF
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know ;
Where’er thy foot can tread
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of her dead.

Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply
To truths divinely given;
The bones that underneath thee lie
Shall live for hell or heaven.

STANZAS
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not

deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the

tomb:Thy Saviour has passed through its portal before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may die, for the Sinless has died.

Thou art gone to the grave; and, its mansion forsaking.

Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long;But the mild rays of paradise beamed on thy waking,

And the sound which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not

deplore thee, Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and

guide;He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee, And death has no sting,for the Saviour has died.*

* The following stanzas were written as an addition to the above hymn, by an English clergyman, on hearing of the decease of the author.

Thou art gone to the grave; and whole nations bemoan thee, Who caught from thy lips the glad tidings of peace:Yet grateful, they still in their hearts shall enthrone thee, And ne'er shall thy name from their memories cease.

Thou art gone to the grave; but thy work shall not perish,

That work which the spirit of wisdom hath blest;His strength shall sustain it, his comforts shall cherish, And make it to prosper, though thou art at rest. ON RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS

O, Saviour of the faithful dead,
With whom thy servants dwell,

Though cold and green the turf is spread
Above their narrow cell,—

No more we cling to mortal clay,

We doubt and fear no more,
Nor shrink to tread the darksome way

Which thou hast trod before.

'T was hard from those I loved to go,

Who knelt around my bed, Whose tears bedewed my burning brow,

Whose arms upheld my head.

As fading from my dizzy view,

I sought their forms in vain, The bitterness of death I knew,

And groaned to live again.

'T wa*dreadful, when th' accuser's power

Assailed my sinking heart, Recounting every wasted hour,

And each unworthy part:

But, Jesus, in that mortal fray,
Thy blessed comfort stole,

Like sunshine in a stormy day,
Across my darkened soul.

When soon or late this feeble breath
No more to thee shall pray,

Support me through the vale of death, And in the darksome way.

When clothed in fleshly weeds again

I wait thy dread decree, Judge of the world, bethink thee then

That thou hast died for me.

« AnteriorContinuar »