| |
| IT has been said, and I believe, | |
| Though tears of natural sorrow start, | |
| ’Tis mixt with pleasure when we grieve | |
| For those the dearest to the heart, | |
| From whom long-loved at length we part; | 5 |
| As by a Christian’s feelings led | |
| We lay them in their peaceful bed. | |
| |
| Yet speak I not of those who go | |
| The allotted pilgrimage on earth, | |
| With earth-born passions grovelling low, | 10 |
| Enslaved to honour, avarice, mirth, | |
| Unconscious of a nobler birth: | |
| But such as tread with loftier scope | |
| The Christian’s path with Christian hope. | |
| |
| We grieve to think, that they again, | 15 |
| Shall ne’er in this world’s pleasure share: | |
| But sweet the thought that this world’s pain | |
| No more is theirs; that this world’s care | |
| It is no more their lot to bear. | |
| And surely in this scene below | 20 |
| The joy is balanced by the woe. | |
| |
| We grieve to see the lifeless form, | |
| The livid cheek, the sunken eye: | |
| But sweet to think, corruption’s worm | |
| The living spirit can defy, | 25 |
| And claim its kindred with the sky. | |
| Lo! where the earthen vessel lies! | |
| Aloft the unbodied tenant flies. | |
| |
| We grieve to think, our eyes no more | |
| That form, those features loved, shall trace, | 30 |
| But sweet it is from memory’s store | |
| To call each fondly-cherished grace, | |
| And fold them in the heart’s embrace. | |
| No bliss ’mid worldly crowds is bred, | |
| Like musing on the sainted dead! | 35 |
| |
| We grieve to see expired the race | |
| They ran, intent on works of love: | |
| But sweet to think, no mixture base, | |
| Which with their better nature strove, | |
| Shall mar their virtuous deeds above. | 40 |
| Sin o’er their soul has lost his hold, | |
| And left them with their earthly mould! | |
| |
| We grieve to know, that we must roam | |
| Apart from them each wonted spot: | |
| But sweet to think, that they a home | 45 |
| Have gained; a fair and goodly lot, | |
| Enduring, and that changeth not. | |
| And who that home of freedom there | |
| Will with his prison-house compare? | |
| |
| ’Tis grief to feel, that we behind, | 50 |
| Severed from those we love remain: | |
| ’Tis joy to hope, that we shall find, | |
| Exempt from sorrow, fear, and pain, | |
| With them our dwelling-place again. | |
| ’Tis but like them to sink to rest, | 55 |
| With them to waken and be blest. | |
| |
| O Thou, who form’st Thy creature’s mind | |
| With thoughts that chasten and that cheer, | |
| Grant me to fill my space assigned | |
| For sojourning a stranger here | 60 |
| With holy hope and filial fear: | |
| Fear to be banished far from Thee, | |
| And hope Thy face unveiled to see! | |
| |
| There before Thee, the Great, the Good, | |
| By angel myriads compassed round, | 65 |
| “Made perfect” by the Saviour’s blood, | |
| With virtue clothed, with honour crowned, | |
| “The spirits of the just” are found: | |
| There tears no more of sorrow start, | |
| Pain flies the unmolested heart, | 70 |
| And life in bliss unites whom death no more shall part. | |
| |
