138 THE LONELY CHURCH.
Sate the poor mother mourning, in her tears
Forgetting what a little span of time
Did hold her from her darling. And methought,
How sweet it were, so near the sacred house
Where we had heard of Christ, and taken his yoke,
And Sabbath after Sabbath gathered strength
To do his will, thus to lie down and rest,
Close 'neath the shadow of its peaceful walls;
And when the hand doth moulder, to lift up
Our simple tomb-stone witness to that faith
Which cannot die.
Heaven bless thee, lonely church ! And daily may'st thou warn a pilgrim-band, From toil, from cumbrance, and from strife to flee, And drink the waters of eternal life : Still in sweet fellowship with trees and skies, Friend both of earth and heaven, devoutly stand To guide the living and to guard the dead.
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