One moment her pale lips trembled And we felt in the lonesome midnight, As we sat by the silent dead, Then we thought how, with faith unshrinking, And, taking the hand of the Saviour, Went up on the heavenly side. Phœbe Carey CXXXVI THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL Vital spark of heavenly flame! Hark! they whisper; Angels say, What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, The world recedes, it disappears! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O death! where is thy sting? A. Pope CXXXVII THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, "Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kiss'd their drooping leaves, It was for the Lord of Paradise "My Lord has need of these flow'rets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where He was once a child. "They shall all bloom in fields of light, And saints, upon their garments white, And the mother gave, in tears and pain, O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. H. W. Longfellow CXXXVIII ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT O, fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted, That did thy cheek envermeil, sought to kiss, But kill'd, alas! and then bewail'd his fatal bliss. Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire ? CXXXIX 7. Milton FUNERAL HYMN Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb, The Saviour hath past 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 path of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died. Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion forsaking, Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt linger'd long; But the sunshine of Heav'n beam'd bright on thy waking, And the sound which thou heard'st was the Sera phim’s song. Thou art gone to the grave! but 'twere vain to deplore thee, When God was thy ransom, thy Guardian, and Guide; He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee, And death hath no sting, since the Saviour has died. Bishop Heber CXL THE BURIAL ANTHEM Brother, thou art gone before us, |