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THE SOUL'S PASSING.
Runs no more the circling river,
Warming, brightening every part;
No more merry leap and start ;
In its silent home, the heart.
Hope not answer to your praying !
Cold, responseless lies she there : Death, that ever will be slaying
Something gentle, something fair, Came with numbers soft as slumbers
She is with him otherwhere !
Mother! yes, you scarce would chide her
Had you seen the form he bore,
Tender as the look he wore,
More than mother-ten times more !
Earthly father ! weep not o'er her !
To another Father's breast,
To the kingdom of the blest,
Dwells she now in perfect rest.
Friend! he was a friend that found her
Amid blessings poor and scant,
And within a heavenly want;
Wings for which the weary pant.
Lover! yes, she loved thee dearly !
When she left thee loved thee best ! Love, she knew, alone burns clearly
In the bosoms of the blest; Love she bore thee, watches o'er thee,
Is the angel in thy breast !
Mourners all ! have done with weeping !
I will tell you what he said, When he came and found her sleeping;
On her heart his hand he laid :“Sleep is, maiden, sorrow-laden;
Peace dwells only with the dead.
“Wend with me across the river,
Seems so bitter, is so sweet; On whose other shore forever
Happy, holy spirits greet; Grief all over, friend and lover
In a sweet communion meet
It is better, father, mother,
Lover, friend, to leave behind; All their blessèd loves and other,
Come with me, and thou shalt find, Where thy spirit shall inherit
Perfect love and perfect mind.
“Love that is to mortals given
Struggles with imperfect will; Love alone that homes in heaven
Can its perfect self fulfill ; Where possessing every blessing,
Still it grows and greatens still !
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 419
“See, I bring thee wings to bear thee,
To the blessed angel-home; Dear ones dead forever near thee,
From thy side no more to roam ; Love increased, wait, thou blessed,
Till the living loved ones come !
“ O'er the river !" Lo ! she faltered,
While he took her by the hand;
As she heard the sweet command.
CHARLES H. HITCHINGS.
The Dying Christain to his Soul.
Quit, О quit, this mortal frame !
Hark! they whisper: angels say,
The world recedes—it disappears ;
Farewell Life, Welcome Life.
And the world is growing dim;
Welcome Life! the spirit strives !
Life's "Good Morning.” LIFE! we've been long together
, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'T is hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. PALMS OF GLORY.
Palms of Glory.
, Crowns that never fade away, Gird and deck the saints in light,
Priests, and kings, and conquerors they. Yet the conquerors bring their palms
To the Lamb amidst the throne; And proclaim in joyful psalms,
Victory through his cross alone !
Kings their crowns for harps resign,
Crying as they strike the chords, “Take the kingdom-it is thine:
King of kings, and Lord of lords !" Round the altar priests confess,
If their robes are white as snow, ’T was the Saviour's righteousness,
And his blood that made them so.
Who were these ?—On earth they dwelt,
Sinners once, of Adam's race; Guilt, and fear, and suffering felt,
But were saved from all by grace. They were mortal too, like us;
Ah! when we like them shall die, May our souls, translated thus, Triumph, reign, and shine on high !