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النشر الإلكتروني

THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE.

THOU art gone to the grave-but we will not deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb;
The Saviour has passed through its portals before thee,
And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side,
But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thec,
And sinners may hope since the Sinless has died.

Thou art gone to the grave-and its mansion forsaking,
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered long,
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,
And the song which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

Thou art gone to the grave-but 'twere wrong to deplore thee,
When God was thy ranson, thy guardian, thy guide:
He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee,
Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died.

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OH! blest were the accents of early creation,
When the words of Jehovah came down from above,

In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,

And wake their cold atoms to life and to love.

And mighty the tones which the firmament rended,
When on the wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind,
By lightning and hail, and thick darkness attended,
He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.

And sweet was the voice of the first-born of heaven,
Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form;
Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven,"
"Be whole" to the sick, and, "Be still" to the storm.

O Judge of the world! when arrayed in thy glory,
Thy summons again shall be heard from on high,
When nature stands trembling and naked before Thee,
And waits on thy sentence to live or to die-

When the heavens shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder,
And the sun in thy lightnings grow languid and pale,
And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder,
In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail.

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WHEN Spring unlocks the flowers, to paint the laughing soil;
When Summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil;
When Winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.

The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade;
The winds that sweep the mountain, or lull the drowsy glade;
The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,
The moon, and stars, their Maker's name in silent pomp display.

Shall man the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,—
Shall man alone unthankful, his little praise deny?

No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love; and, Saviour, honor Thee.

The flowers of Spring may wither, the hope of Summer fade,— The Autumn droop in Winter,-the birds forsake the shade,— The wind be lulled,—the sun and moon forget their old decree,— But we in nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.

THE FOLLOWERS OF CHRIST.

THE Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain:

His blood-red banner streams afar:
Who follows in his train?

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