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3 Thou art gone to the grave; and, its mansion
forsaking, Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lingered
long; But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy
waking, And the sound thou didst hear was the sera
4 Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not
deplore thee, Since God was thy Refuge, thy Guardian, thy
Guide; He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore
And death has no sting, since the Saviour hath
8 & 7s. M.
S. F. SMITH.
The Death of a Sister.
i Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,
Gentle as the summer breeze,
When it floats among the trees.
Peaceful in the grave so low;
Thou no more our songs shalt know.
3 Dearest sister, thou hast left us;
Here thy loss we deeply feel ;
He can all our sorrows heal.
4 Yet again we hope to meet thee,
When the day of life is fled,
Where no farewell tear is shed.
Death of Parents.
1 The God of mercy will indulge
The flowing tear, the heaving sigh,
2 Yet not one anxious, murmuring thought
Should with our mourning passions blend ;
3 Parent, Protector, Guardian, Guide,
Thou art each tender name in one;
4 To thee, our Father, would we look,
Our Rock, our Portion, and our Friend,
Had we no light, O God, from thee;
2 But fearless now we rest in faith;
A holy life makes happy death ;
To set the imprisoned spirit free.
From those who long had shared our heart, If thou hadst left us still to fear
Love's only heritage was here.
From out this world of pain and woe;
affections never die.
6 & 4s. M.
Alike are thine.
Sustain us thou !
The thorn, the rod,
Aid us, o God!
4 Tremblers beside the
Father divine !
Thine, only thine.
Let them mingle, — for they must!
For the spirit 's fled to God.
Darken round this mortal lamp;
3 Deep the pit, and cold the bed,
Where the spoils of death are laid;
Of man's melancholy tomb.
Death cannot the soul imprison :
Glorious, though invisible.
Peace is there, and comfort too :
At a Funeral.
Take this new treasure to thy trust;
2 No pain, no grief, no anxious fear,
Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes
3 So Jesus slept ; God's dying Son
Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed Then rest, dear saint, till from his throne
The morning break, and pierce the shade. 4 Break, sacred morning, from the skies!
Then, clothed anew in bright array,
Death of a Minister in his Prime.
1 Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,
In full activity of zeal and power;
2 Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease;
Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest-task is done: Come from the heat of battle, and in peace, Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.