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So close they follow, such wild order keep,
During the Plague
The air of death breathes through our souls,
The dead all round us lie;
And says, " Prepare to die."
The face that, in the morning sun,
We thought so wondrous fair,
Beneath its golden hair.
I see the old man in his grave
With thin locks silvery-grey;
In the cold breath of day.
The loving ones we loved the best,
Like music, all are gone!
Their monumental stone.
But not, when the death prayer is said,
The life of life departs; The body in the grave is laid,
Its beauty in our hearts.
At holy midnight, voices sweet
Like fragrance fill the room,
Come bright'ning from the tomb.
We know who sends the visions bright,
We veil our eyes before Thy light,
This frame of dust, this feeble breath,
We think on Thee, and feel in death
Dim is the light of vanish'd years
In the glory yet to come;
When Jesus calls us home.
Like children for some bauble fair
We part with life—awake! and there
HOPE IN DEATH
My life's a shade, my days
My peaceful grave shall keep
My Lord His angels shall
I said sometimes with tears,
What means my trembling heart,
Then welcome, harmless grave:
Happy soul! thy days are ended,
All thy mourning days below;
To the sight of Jesus go!
Lo, the Saviour stands above,
Reaches out the crown of love!
Struggle through thy latest passion
To thy dear Redeemer's breast,
To His everlasting rest!
Bear a momentary pain;
Suffer, with thy Lord to reign!
A REAL OCCURRENCE IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS
Which is the happiest death to die?
"O!" said one, "if I might choose
With bright celestial views.