Blessedness of the Pious Dead.

1 O, STAY thy tears; for they are blest,
Whose days are past, whose toil is done:
Here midnight care disturbs our rest;
Here sorrow dims the noonday sun.

2 How blest are they whose transient years
Pass like an evening meteor's flight!
Nor dark with guilt, nor dim with tears;
Whose course is short, unclouded, bright.
3 0, cheerless were our lengthened way;
But heaven's own light dispels the gloom,
Streams downward from eternal day,
And casts a glory round the tomb.

4 O, stay thy tears; the blest above
Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth,
And sing a song of joy and love;
Then why should anguish reign on earth?

752. L. M. MRS. STEELE.
Early Death.

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.

753. L. M. J. SHIRLEY, altered.
Earthly Things transient.

1 THE glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against fate;

Death lays his icy hands on kings.
2 Princes and magistrates must fall,
And in the dust be equal made,
The high and mighty with the small,
Sceptre and crown with scythe and spade

3 The laurel withers on our brow;

Then boast no more your mighty deeds: Upon death's purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds!

4 All heads must come to the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just

Preserve in death a rich perfume,

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

754.

P. M.

W. B. TAPPAN,

The Heavenly Rest.

1 THERE is an hour of peaceful rest To mourning wanderers given; There is a tear for souls distressed, A balm for every wounded breast; 'Tis found alone in heaven.

2 There is a home for weary souls,
By sin and sorrow driven,

When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear; - 't is heaven.

3 There faith lifts up the tearful eye,
The heart with anguish riven,
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene in heaven.

4 There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given;
There rays divine disperse the gloom;
Beyond the confines of the tomb
Appears the dawn of heaven.

755. 12 & 11s. M. HEBER.

Funeral Hymn.

1 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.

2 Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may hope, for the Sinless hath died.

3 Thou art gone to the grave; and, its mansion forsaking,

Perchance thy tried spirit in fear lingered long;

But the mild rays of Paradise beamed on thy waking,

And the song which thou heardst was the seraphim's song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave; but 't were wrong to deplore thee,

Whose God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian, thy Guide;

He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee,

Where death has no sting, for the Saviour

hath died.

579

756.

C. M.

MRS. JERVIS.

Thou must go forth alone.

1 THOU must go forth alone, my soul!
Thou must go forth alone,

To other scenes, to other worlds,
That mortal hath not known.

Thou must go forth alone, my soul,
To tread the narrow vale;

But He whose word is sure hath said
His comforts shall not fail.

2 Thou must go forth alone, my soul,
Along the darksome way,

Where the bright sun has never shed
His warm and gladsome ray;
And yet the Sun of Righteousness
Shall rise amid the gloom,

And scatter from thy trembling gaze
The shadows of the tomb.

3 Thou must go forth alone, my soul,
To meet thy God above:

But shrink not- he hath said, my soul,

He is a God of love;

His rod and staff shall comfort thee
Across the dreary road,

Till thou shalt join the blesséd ones
In heaven's serene abode.

757. L. M.

W. B. O. PEABODY.

The Glories of Heaven.

1 WHEN all the hours of life are past, And death's dark shadow falls at last, It is not sleep—it is not rest 'Tis glory opening to the blest.