art free.
2 And thus shall faith's consoling power
The tears of love restrain:
O, who that saw thy parting hour
Could wish thee here again!
3 Triumphant in thy closing eye
The hope of glory shone;
Joy breathed in thy expiring sigh,
To think the race was run.
4 The passing spirit gently fled,
Sustained by grace divine;
O, may such grace on us be shed,
And make our end like thine.
595. L. M. Fawcett.
Death of Parents.
1 The God of mercy will indulge
The flowing tear, the heaving sigh,
When honored parents fall around,
When friends beloved and kindred die.
2 Yet not one anxious, murmuring thought
Should with our mourning passions blend;
Nor should our bleeding hearts forget
Their mighty, ever-living Friend.
3 Parent, Protector, Guardian, Guide,
Thou art each tender name in one;
On thee we cast our every care,
And comfort seek from thee alone.
4 To thee, our Father, would we look,
Our Rock, our Portion, and our Friend,
And on thy gracious love and truth
With humble, steadfast hope depend.
596. 7s. M. H. S. Washburn.
The Pastor's Funeral.
1 Father, gathered round the bier,
Aid thy weeping children here;
All our stricken hearts deplore
Loss of him we meet no more.
2 Tender are the rites we pay,
Pastor, o'er thy sleeping clay;
We, who late the welcome gave,
Must we bear thee to thy grave?
3 Earth, unto thy faithful trust,
We commit this precious dust,
There, by pain no more oppressed,
Brother, thou wilt sweetly rest.
4 Glorious will that morning break,
When the dead in Christ shall wake;
Joy and grief our bosoms swell,
Brother, pastor, guide, farewell.
597. P. M. Anonymous.
Death of a Minister.
1 On Zion's holy walls
Is quenched a beacon-light,
In vain the watchman calls--
"Sentry! what of the night?"
No answering voice is here,
Say--does the soldier sleep?
O yes--upon the bier,
His watch no more to keep.
2 Still is that heaven-touched tongue,
Pulseless the throbbing breast;
That voice with music strung,
Forever put to rest.
To rest? A living thought,
Undimmed, unquenched, he soars
An essence, spirit-wrought,
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