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And while our farewell tears we pour
To those we leave on this cold shore,
To feel that we shall weep no more,

Nor dwell in heaven alone, my soul!

How sweet, while, waning fast away,
The stars of this dim world decay,
To hail, prophetic of the day,

The golden dawn above, my soul!
To feel we only sleep to rise
In sunnier lands and fairer skies,
To bind again our broken ties

In ever-living love, my soul !

The hour, the hour, so pure and calm, That bathes the wounded soul in balm, And round the pale brow twines the palm

That shuns this wintry clime, my soul ! The hour that draws o’er earth and all Its briers and blooms the mortal pall, — How soft, how sweet, that evening-fall

Of fears, and grief, and time, my soul !

TIME AND ETERNITY.

IT is not time that Aies;
1 'Tis we, 't is we are Aying :
It is not Life that dies ;

'T is we, 't is we are dying.
Time and eternity are one ;
Time is eternity begun:
Life changes, yet without decay ;
'T is we alone who pass away.

It is not Truth that Aies;

'T is we, 't is we are Aying: It is not Faith that dies;

'T is we, 't is we are dying.
O ever-during faith and truth,
Whose youth is age, whose age is youth !
Twin stars of immortality,
Ye cannot perish from our sky.

It is not Hope that Aies ;

'T is we, 't is we are flying : It is not Love that dies;

'T is we, 't is we are dying. Twin streams, that have in heaven your birth, Ye slide in gentle joy through earth.

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Yet we but die to live;

It is from death we ’re Aying:
Forever lives our life ;

For us there is no dying.
We die but as the spring-bud dies,
In summer's golden glow to rise.
These be our days of April bloom ;
Our July is beyond the tomb.

H. Bonar. 1856.

ON THE THRESHOLD.

T'M returning, not departing ;
1 My steps are homeward bound.
I quit the land of strangers

For a home on native ground.

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My tide is but beginning

Its bright eternal Aow.

I am leaving only shadows,

For the true and fair and good. I must not, cannot linger;

I would not, though I could.

This is not death's dark portal,

'Tis life's golden gate to me. Link after link is broken,

And I at last am free.

I am going to the angels,

I am going to my God;
I know the hand that beckons,

I see the holy road.

Why grieve me with your weeping,

Your tears are all in vain; An hour's farewell, beloved,

And we shall meet again.

Jesus, thou wilt receive me,

And welcome me above;
This sunshine which now fills me
Is thine own smile of love.

H. Bonar.

1856.

THE DEAD.

CHOU God of Love! beneath thy sheltering wings 1 We leave our holy dead, To rest in hope! From this world's sufferings

Their souls have Aed !

O, when our souls are burdened with the weight

Of life, and all its woes,
Let us remember them, and calmly wait
For our life's close!

Anon.

CRIEND after friend departs ;
T Who hath not loft a friend ?
There is no union here of hearts

That finds not here an end :
Were this frail world our only rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the Aight of time,

Beyond this vale of death,
There surely is some blessed clime,

Where life is not a breath,

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