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And points the silent shaft of death,
Which speeds an infant to the tomb, — 5 No passion fierce, no low desire,
Has quenched the radiance of the flame ;
Returns, unsullied, as it came. 495.
But withers in the rising day,
Thus swiftly fled its life away. 2 It died ere its expanding soul
Had ever burnt with wrong desires,
Or ever quenched its sacred fires. 3 It died to sin, it died to cares,
But for a moment felt the rod :
Such are the children of our God !
STEELE. " Death of a young Person. 1 WHEN blooming youth is snatched away
By death's resistless hand,
Which pity must demand.
0, may this truth, impressed
Sink deep in every breast.
Behold the opening tomb !
4 Great God, thy sovereign grace in part,
With cleansing, healing power ;
For death's surprising hour.
And gay their silken leaves unfold,
As fearless of the evening cold.
Parched by the sun's directer ray,
The short-lived beauties die away. 3 So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows;
And sweeter than the virgin rose. 4 Or worn by slowly rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The short-lived beauties die away. 5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine ;
Safe from diseases and decline.
If heaven must recompense our pains :
If firm the word of God remains. 498. 8 & 7s. M. S. F. Smith.
Interment of a pious young Female.
Pleasant as the air of evening,
When it floats among the trees.
Peaceful in the grave so low;
Thou no more our songs shalt know.
Here thy loss we deeply feel ;
He can all our sorrows heal.
When the day of life is Aed,
Where no farewell tear is shed.
C. M. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
Burial of a Friend
Sinks on the garden's breast,
In silence there to rest.
The hymn of praise shall swell ;
When peals the Sabbath bell.
Amid a sinless throng,
The everlasting song, –
But lift our earnest prayer,
Death of a Christian.
We will not weep for thee :
It is, that thou art free.
The tears of love restrain :
Could wish thee here again !
The hope of glory shone ;
To think the race was run.
Sustained by grace divine ;
And make our end like thine. 501.
J. H. BANCRO
Cometh neither voice nor cry,
Every pain hath passed away.
Child of God and heir of heaven ;
Thine the Christian's death of peace.
Had the power to conquer death ;
By the border of the tomb.
In that faith we wait, till, risen,
Thou shalt meet us all in heaven.
Thou shalt sleep as Jesus slept ;
Crowned, and glorified, and blest. 502.
Let them mingle, — for they must !
For the spirit 's fled to God.
Darken round this mortal lamp ;
Search this mortal countenance.
Where the spoils of death are laid :
Of man's melancholy tomb.
Death cannot the soul imprison :
Glorious, though invisible.
Peace is there, and comfort too :
Tracing joy's eternal round. 503.
C. P. M. W. Boston Coll.
The dying Christian.