92
poems.
Earth had no home for thee
Thy spirit was too pure to linger here,—
It sought its rest within a nobler sphere:—
O glorious destiny!
Thy feet have trodden an immortal shore,
And earth to thy freed soul is now no more.
Thy spirit was too pure to linger here,—
It sought its rest within a nobler sphere:—
O glorious destiny!
Thy feet have trodden an immortal shore,
And earth to thy freed soul is now no more.
But we must longer stay;
Yet oft the eye thy early doom shall weep,
Oft shall we wander where thy ashes sleep,
Till at the final day
Our spirits at the throne of God shall meet,
And cast their sorrows at his mercy's seat.
Yet oft the eye thy early doom shall weep,
Oft shall we wander where thy ashes sleep,
Till at the final day
Our spirits at the throne of God shall meet,
And cast their sorrows at his mercy's seat.
SUNDAY SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 1837.
Father! when gathered round Thy throne,
Thy name to bless, Thy love to own,
Deign with our contrite souls to meet,
Thus suppliant at Thy mercy seat.
Thy name to bless, Thy love to own,
Deign with our contrite souls to meet,
Thus suppliant at Thy mercy seat.
Thanks for the Gospel of our Lord:
What strength divine its words afford!
Peace when the angry storm-clouds lower,
And sweeter joy in hope's bright hour.
What strength divine its words afford!
Peace when the angry storm-clouds lower,
And sweeter joy in hope's bright hour.
