"Why do we mourn departed friends,
Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends
To call them to His arms.
"Calm on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,
His seal was on thy brow.
"Dust to its narrow house beneath!
Soul to its place on high!
They that have seen thy look in death,
No more may fear to die."
"Blame not the monumental stone we raise,
'Tis to the Saviour's, not the creature's, praise;
Sin was the whole that she could call her own,—
Her goodness all derived from Him alone.
To sin her conflicts, pains, and grief she owed,
Her conqu'ring faith and patience He bestow'd.
Reader! mayst thou obtain like precious faith,
To smile in anguish and rejoice in death."
"A little while, and ev'ry fear,
That o'er the perfect day
Flings shadows dark and drear,
Shall pass like mist away."
