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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 ;
Back to its God the living fire

Returns, unsullied, as it came. 495.

L. M.

Death of an Infunt.
I AS the sweet flower that scents the morn,

But withers in the rising day,
Thus lovely was this infant's dawn,

Thus swiftly fled its life away. 2 It died ere its expanding soul

Had ever burnt with wrong desires,
Had ever spurned at Heaven's control,

Or ever quenched its sacred fires. 3 It died to sin, it died to cares,

But for a moment felt the rod :
O mourner ! such, the Lord declares,

Such are the children of our God !
C. M.

STEELE. " Death of a young Person. 1 WHEN blooming youth is snatched away

By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,

Which pity must demand.
2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,

0, may this truth, impressed
With awful power, “1, too, must die,”

Sink deep in every breast.
3 Let this vain world delude no more ;

Behold the opening tomb !
It bids us seize the present hour, —
To-morrow death may come.

4 Great God, thy sovereign grace in part,

With cleansing, healing power ;
This only can prepare the heart

For death's surprising hour.
L. M.

The Young cut off in their Prime.
I THE morning flowers display their sweets,

And gay their silken leaves unfold,
As careless of the noontide heats,

As fearless of the evening cold.
2 Nipped by the wind's untimely blast,

Parched by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,

The short-lived beauties die away. 3 So blooms the human face divine,

When youth its pride of beauty shows;
Fairer than spring the colors shine,

And sweeter than the virgin rose. 4 Or worn by slowly rolling years,

Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,

The short-lived beauties die away. 5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb,

With lustre brighter far shall shine ;
Revive with ever-during bloom,

Safe from diseases and decline.
6 Let sickness blast, let death devour,

If heaven must recompense our pains :
Perish the grass, and fade the flower,

If firm the word of God remains. 498. 8 & 7s. M. S. F. Smith.

Interment of a pious young Female.
1 SISTER, thou wast mild and lovely,
Gentle as the summer breeze,

Pleasant as the air of evening,

When it floats among the trees.
2 Peaceful be thy silent slumber, -

Peaceful in the grave so low;
Thou no more wilt join our number ;

Thou no more our songs shalt know.
3 Dearest sister, thou hast left us ;

Here thy loss we deeply feel ;
But 't is God that hath bereft us :

He can all our sorrows heal.
4 Yet again we hope to meet thee,

When the day of life is Aed,
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,

Where no farewell tear is shed.



Burial of a Friend
| AS, bowed by sudden storms, the rose

Sinks on the garden's breast,
Down to the grave our brother goes,

In silence there to rest.
2 No more with us his tuneful voice

The hymn of praise shall swell ;
No more his cheerful heart rejoice

When peals the Sabbath bell.
3 Yet, if, in yonder cloudless sphere,

Amid a sinless throng,
He utters in his Saviour's ear

The everlasting song, –
4 No more we'll mourn the absent friend,

But lift our earnest prayer,
And daily every effort bend
To rise and join him there.



C. M.

Death of a Christian.
1 DEAR as thou wert, and justly dear,

We will not weep for thee :
One thought shall check the starting tear,

It is, that thou art free.
2 And thus shall faith's consoling power

The tears of love restrain :
O, who that saw thy parting hour

Could wish thee here again !
3 Triumphant in thy closing eye

The hope of glory shone ;
Joy breathed in thy expiring sigh,

To think the race was run.
4 The passing spirit gently Aed,

Sustained by grace divine ;
0, may such grace on us be shed,

And make our end like thine. 501.

75. M.

The Christian's Burial. .
1 BROTHER, though from yonder sky

Cometh neither voice nor cry,
Yet we know for thee to-day

Every pain hath passed away.
2 Not for thee shall tears be given,

Child of God and heir of heaven ;
For he gave thee sweet release ;

Thine the Christian's death of peace.
3 Well we know thy living faith

Had the power to conquer death ;
As a living rose may bloom

By the border of the tomb.
4 Brother, in that solemn trust
We commend thee, dust to dust;

In that faith we wait, till, risen,

Thou shalt meet us all in heaven.
5 While we weep as Jesus wept,

Thou shalt sleep as Jesus slept ;
With thy Saviour thou shalt rest,

Crowned, and glorified, and blest. 502.

75. M.

Funeral Hymn.
1 CLAY to clay, and dust to dust!

Let them mingle, — for they must !
Give to earth the earthly clod,

For the spirit 's fled to God.
2 Never more shall midnight's damp

Darken round this mortal lamp ;
Never more shall noonday's glance

Search this mortal countenance.
3 Deep the pit and cold the bed,

Where the spoils of death are laid :
Stiff the curtains, chill the gloom,

Of man's melancholy tomb.
4 Look aloft! The spirit 's risen ;-

Death cannot the soul imprison :
'T is in heaven that spirits dwell,

Glorious, though invisible.
5 Thither let us turn our view :

Peace is there, and comfort too :
There shall those we love be found,

Tracing joy's eternal round. 503.

C. P. M. W. Boston Coll.

The dying Christian.
1 WHEN life's tempestuous storms are o'er,
How calm he meets the friendly shore,
Who lived averse from sin !

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