664

L. M.

On the Death of a Child.

MRS. STEELE.

1 SO fades the lovely, blooming flower,
Frail, smiling solace of an hour;
So soon our transient comforts fly,
And pleasure only blooms to die.

2 Is there no kind, no lenient art
To heal the anguish of the heart?
To ease the heavy load of care,
Which nature must, but cannot, bear?
3 Can reason's dictates be obeyed?,
Too weak, alas, her strongest aid!
O, let Religion then be nigh;

Her comforts were not made to die.

4 Her powerful aid supports the soul,
And nature owns her kind control;
While she unfolds the sacred page,
Our fiercest griefs resign their rage.

5 Then gentle patience smiles on pain,
And dying hope revives again;

Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye,
And faith points upward to the sky.

665

L. M.

Death of Children.

J. Q. ADAMS.

1 SURE, to the mansions of the blest
When infant innocence ascends,
Some angel brighter than the rest
The spotless spirit's flight attends.

2 On wings of ecstasy they rise,
Beyond where worlds material roll,
Till some fair sister of the skies
Receives the unpolluted soul.

3 There, at the Almighty Father's hand,
Nearest the throne of living light,
The choirs of infant seraphs stand,
And dazzling shine, where all are bright.

4 That inextinguishable beam,

With dust united at our birth, Sheds a more dim, discolored gleam, The more it lingers upon earth.

5 Closed in this dark abode of clay, The stream of glory faintly burns, Nor unobscured the lucid ray

To its own native fount returns.

6 But when the Lord of mortal breath
Decrees his bounty to resume,
And points the silent shaft of death,
Which speeds an infant to the tomb, -

7 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.

C. WESLEY.

666

7s & 6s M.

Adieu to a departed Christian Friend.

1 FAREWELL, thou once a mortal,
Our poor, afflicted friend;

Go, pass the heavenly portal,
To God, thy glorious end.

PUBLIC OCCASION®,

ots he blest,

est,

668

s of ecstasy they row, where worlds material tyll r sister of the nking se vinpolluted sout

zhty Father's hand, flas ng lucht,

eath of an aged Minister.

I of God, well done!

MONTGOMERY.

om thy loved employ ;
ttle fought, the victory won,
er thy Master's joy.

voice of midnight came;

He started up to hear:

mortal arrow pierced his frame;

He fell, but felt no fear.

Tranquil amidst alarms,

It found him on the field,
A veteran slumbering on his arms,
Beneath his red-cross shield.

The pains of death are past;
Labor and sorrow cease;

And, life's long warfare closed at last,
His soul is found in peace.

2 The Author of thy being

Hath summoned thee away;
And faith is lost in seeing,

And night in endless day.

3 With those that went before thee,
The saints of ancient days,
Who shine in sacred story,
Thy soul hath found its place.

4 Acquainted with their sadness,
While in the weeping vale,
Thou sharest now their gladness,
And joys that never fail.

That

5 No loss of friends shall grieve thee; we alone must bear They cannot, cannot leave thee, Thy kind companions there.

6 From all thy care and sorrow
Thou art escaped to-day ;

And we shall mount to-morrow,
And soar to thee away. -

667

C. M.

WATTS.

The Death and Burial of a Saint.

1 WHY do we mourn departing friends, Or shake at death's alarms?

'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends To call them to his arms.

2 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb ?

There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.