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On Thee our hopes depend :

We gather round our Rock:
Send whom Thou wilt; but condescend

Thyself to feed thy flock.

CLVIII.

Oh! sweet and sacred is the rest
Round the departed Christian's breast;
Serene the pillow of his head,
And sanctified his funeral bed.

Upon his grave the moonlight beam
Shines smiling—and the dews on him
Fall soft as on the loveliest flower
That decks the field or crowns the bower.

And if the sad and sorrowing tear
Be sometimes shed in silence there,
Religion's ray that tear shall light,
And make it as a dew-drop bright.

Then on the earth's maternal breast
In peaceful hope and joy we'll rest ;
And yield us to death's slumber deep,
As infants calmly sink to sleep.

CLIX.

In vain our fancy strives to paint

The moment after death;
The glories which surround the saint,

When yielding up his breath.

One gentle sigh his fetters breaks!

We scarce can say, “He's gone !" Before the willing spirit takes

Her mansion near the throne.

Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,

To trace her in her flight:
No eye can pierce within the veil

Which hides that world of light.

Thus much (and this is all) we know

They are supremely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,

And with their Saviour rest.

In heavenly strains His Name they praise,

His face they always view ;-
And if we here their footsteps trace,

There we shall praise Him too.

CLX.

How brightly to a Christian's trembling eye

Shine, of his sojourn here, the later hours, When faith's refulgence, falling from the sky,

Her golden radiance o'er his sunset showers ! Sweet is the thought of ceaseless rest in heaven,

That fairer land than even Eden's bowers, Where sin is sown not, and whence woe is driven,

And of all sorrows past, forgetfulness is given.

CLXI

FRIEND after friend departs :

Who hath not lost a friend ?
There is no union here of hearts,

Which finds not here an end.
Were this frail world our final rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,

Beyond the reign of death,
There surely is some blessed clime

Where life is not a breath;
Nor life's affections, transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward and expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown;
A long eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone.
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere.
Thus star by star declines,

Till all are past away ;
As morning high and higher shines

To pure and perfect day :
Nor sink those stars in empty night,
But hide themselves in heaven's own light.

CLXII.

O YE, who, with the frequent tear
And sadden'd step, assemble here,
To bear these cold yet lov'd remains,
Where dark and cheerless silence reigns,
Your sorrows hush, your griefs dispel,
The Saviour lives—All, All is well !
Let Unbelief lament or frown,
To see so fair a flower cut down;
But Faith shall still direct her eye,
Amidst her tears, to yonder sky,
And on this firm assurance dwell,
The Saviour lives, and All is well!

Those eyes, indeed, are rayless now,
And pale that cheek, and chill that brow;
Yet could that lifeless form declare
The joys its soul is call’d to share,
How would those lips rejoice to tell,
The Saviour lives-All, All is well!

Oh were it but to mortals given
To hear, through yonder vault of heaven,
The strains which ransom'd spirits sing,
Thus would the joyous descant ring-
“The Lord, who sav'd our souls from hell,
The Saviour lives, and All is well!"

Then let us now no more repine,
But all the glorious anthem join;
And, while our fondest hopes decay,
Still learn to wipe our tears away,
And loud the heavenly chorus swell--
“The Saviour lives—All, All is well !”

CLXIII.

IN

age

and feebleness extreme,
Who shall a helpless worm redeem !
Jesus ! my only Hope Thou art,
Strength of my failing flesh and heart !
Oh let me catch a smile from Thee,
And drop into Eternity!

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