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But the wide arms of mercy are spread to en

fold thee, And sinners may hope, for the sinless has died. 3 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. 4 Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not de

plore 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 !

157. The Death of a Teacher. 12's & li's M.

Scotland. 1 Though lost to our sight, we may not deplore

thee, The clear light of faith shall illumine thy

road; All through the dark valley shall angels watch

o'er thee, And guide thee in peace to the home of thy

God.

2 Thy heart, while on earth, in his praises de

lighted,
Thy voice ever spoke of his fatherly love;

DEATH OF A PUPIL.

158, 159.

And now, by life's shadows no longer benighted, Thou wilt love him, and praise him, in lea

ven above.

3 And there may we meet when life shall be ended,

All tears wiped away, and all errors forgiven, And there may our prayers together be blended In the sweet song of praise to our Master in

heaven.

158.
The Death of a Teacher. C. M.

Woodstock.
1 FAREWELL, dear friend! a long farewell!

For we shall meet no more,
Till we are raised with thee to dwell

On Zion's happy shore.
2 Our friend and brother, lo! is dead!

The cold and lifeless clay
Has made in dust its silent bed,

And there it must decay.
3 But is he dead?-Oh, no, he lives !

His happy spirit flies
To heaven above; and there receives

The long expected prize.
4 Farewell, dear friend, again farewell,-

Soon we shall rise with thee;
And when we meet, no tongue can tell

How great our joys shall be.

L. M.

159. The Death of a Pupil.

Windham.
1 A MOURNING class, a vacant seat,

Tell us that one we loved to meet

Will join our youthful throng no more,

T'ill all these changing scenes are o'er.
2 No more that voice we loved to hear

Shall fill the teacher's listening ear;
No more its tones shall join to swell

The songs that of a Saviour tell,
3 That welcome face, that sparkling eye,

And sprightly form, must buried lie;
Deep in the cold and silent gloom,

The rayless night that fills the tomb.
4 And we live on; but none can say,

How near or distant is the day
When death shall at God's bidding come,

To lay us in our narrow hone.
5 God tells us, by this mournful death,

How vain and fleeting is our breath ;
And bids our souls prepare to meet
The trial of his judgment-seat.

160. The Death of a Pupil.

C. M.
Woodstock.
1 WE come our Sabbath hymn to raise,

Our humble prayer to pour;
One voice is hushed, its notes of praise

Shall mingle here no more.
2 The lips are still, the eye is dim,

That beamed with joy and love;
The spirit, it hath gone to Him

Who gave it from above.
3 We will not weep; for Jesus said,

6 Let little children come;"
But pray that our young hearts be led

To seek that better home.

THIS WORLD NOT OUR HOME, 161, 162,

161.

Thoughts on Death, S, M,

Boylston.
1 LET children never fear

To leave this world of ours,
To close their eyes to beauty here,

And summer's fading flowers.

2 Beyond the hills that stand

In majesty alone,
There is a brighter, purer land,

And there our Father's throne.

3 No mortal step can tread

Upon a shore so fair;
No mortal voice can there be heard,

But'angel harps are there.

4 And thither soars the soul,

When life's brief day is done,-
There is the destined, happy goal

For each immortal one.

5 Then shall we turn away,

When God would call us home ?
No! let us rather gladly say,

Lord ! at thy call we come.

162. This World not our Home. C. M,

Ballerma.
1 I KNOW that earth is not the home,

Where I must always stay;
I only here awhile shall roam,

Until a brighter day.

2 Earth is the school where I must learn

To do my Father's will,
That, when he calls me to return,

I may be with him still.
3 Here I must purify my heart,

My selfishness subdue.
Father, thy gracious aid impart,

My feeble strength renew,
4 That I may pure and holy rise

To meet a Father's love,
Far, far beyond the starry skies,

In that bright home above.

163. Heaven.

C. M. Jordan.

Watts. 1 There is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain.
2 There everlasting spring abides,

And never-fading flowers ;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides

This heavenly land from ours.
3 Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood

Stand dressed in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,

While Jordan rolled between.

4 But timorous mortals start, and shrink,

To cross the narrow sea;
And linger, shivering, on the brink,

And fear to launch away.

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