Long at the gate of bliss would I lie,
And feast my spirit ere it fly,
With bright celestial views.
Mine were a lingering death, without pain,
A death which all might love to see,
And mark how bright and sweet should be
The victory I should gain !
“Fain would I catch a hymn of love
From the angel-harps which ring above:
And sing it, as my parting breath
Quivered and expired in death-
So that those on earth might hear
The harp-notes of another sphere;
And mark, when nature faints and dies,
What springs of heavenly life arise;
And gather, from the death they view,
A ray of hope to light them through,
When they should be departing too."
"No," said another," so not I:
Sudden as thought is the death I would die;
I would suddenly lay my shackles by,
Nor bear a single pang at parting,
Nor see the tear of sorrow starting,
Nor hear the quivering lips that bless me,
Nor feel the hands of love that press me,
Nor the frame, with mortal terror shaking, Nor the heart, where love's soft bands are breaking
"All bliss, without a pang to cloud it! All joy, without a pain to shroud it ! Not slain, but caught up as it were, To meet my Saviour in the air! So would I die!
Were the realms of light
Bursting at once upon my sight!
Even so,
These parting hours, how sad and slow!"
His voice grew faint, and fix'd was his eye,
As if gazing on visions of ecstasy:
The hue of his cheek and lips decayed,
Around his mouth a sweet smile played ;-
They look'd-he was dead!
His spirit had fled:
Painless and swift as his own desire,
The soul undress'd,
From her mortal vest,
And stepp'd in her car of heavenly fire;
And proved how bright
Were the realms of light,
Bursting at once upon the sight!
1 CHILD of sorrow, lend thine ear;
Turn, and thy deliverer see;
Jesus brings his ransom near,
Tells thee it was paid for thee.
2 'Tis the precious stream that flow'd
From his hands, his feet, his side;
Then he made our peace with God.
Justice then he satisfied.
3 Sins of deep and scarlet dye
Vanish where this blood is known;
Hellish foes in terror fly,
Conscious that their power is gone.
4 This will bring thee life and joy,
When 'tis sprinkled on thy heart;
Nothing shall thy peace destroy,
Death resigns his poison'd dart.
5 Welcome then to mercy's store,
Mercy for the vilest free;
Trembling sinner, doubt no more,
Trust in him who died for thee.
6 But reflect, when turn'd to God,
What it cost to make thee clean;
Trample not on Jesus' blood,
Love the Lord, and fear to sin.
1 To mark the sufferings of the babe
That cannot speak its woe;
To see the infant tears gush forth,
Yet know not why they flow;
To meet the meek uplifted eye,
That fain would ask relief,
Yet can but tell of agony,-
This is a mother's grief.
2 Thro' dreary days and darker nights,
To trace the march of death;
To hear the faint and frequent sigh,
The quick and shorten'd breath;
To watch the last dread strife draw near
And pray that struggle brief,
Though all is ended with its close,-
This is a mother's grief.
3 To see in one short hour decayed
The hope of future years;
To feel how vain a father's prayers,
How vain a mother's tears;
To think the cold grave now must close
O'er what was once the chief
Of all the treasured joys of earth,—
This is a mother's grief.
4 Yet when the first wild throb is past,
Of anguish and despair,
To lift the eye of faith to heaven,
And think-my child is there;
This best can dry the gushing tear,
This yields the heart relief,
Until the Christian's pious hope
O'ercomes a mother's grief!
"Casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you."
1 FOR me! was it rightly I heard?
The hope too presumptuous I fear;
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