« AnteriorContinuar »
If it be sad to speak of treasures gone,
Of sainted genius called too soon away,
Yet kindling onward to the perfect day-
Hath not thy voice been here amongst us heard ?
And that deep soul of gentleness and power, Have we not felt its breath in every word,
Wont from thy lip,as Hermon's dew,to shower? Yes! in our hearts thy fervent thoughts have
burned Of heaven they were, and thither are returned.
How shall we mourn thee?- With a lofty trust,
Our life’s immortal birthright from above, With a glad faith, whose eye, to track the just, Through shades and mysteries lifts a glance of
of love, And yet can weep !--for Nature so deplores The friend that leaves us, though for happier
And one high tone of triumph o'er thy bier,
One strain of solemn rapture be allowed, Thou that, rejoicing on thy mid-career,
Not to decay, but unto death hast bowed! In those bright regions of the rising sun, Where Victory ne'er a crown like thine hath won.
Praise, for yet one more name, with power en
dowed, To cheer and guide us onward as we press, Yet one more image on the heart bestowed,
To dwell there beautiful in holiness ! Thine, Heber, thine, whose memory from the
dead Shines as the star, which to the Saviour led.