When that happy era begins,
When arrayed in Thy glories I shine,
Nor grieve any more by my sins,
The bosom on which I recline;
O then shall the veil be removed,
And round me Thy brightness be poured;
I shall meet Him whom absent I loved,
I shall see whom unseen I adored.
And then, never more shall the fears,
The trials, temptations, and woes,
Which darken this valley of tears,
Intrude on my blissful repose.
Or, if yet remembered above,
Remembrance no sadness shall raise;
They will be but new signs of Thy love,
New themes for my wonder and praise.
Thus the strokes which, from sin and from pain,
Shall set me eternally free,
Will but strengthen and rivet the chain,
Which binds me, my SAVIOUR, to Thee.
O WEEP for those who wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream:
Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
Mourn where their GOD hath dwelt, the godless dwell.
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And when shall Zion's song again seem sweet?
And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice?
Tribes of the wandering foot, and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest?
The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country, Israel but the grave.
DEATH OF A YOUNG CHRISTIAN.
O GRIEVE not for him with the wildness of sorrow,
As those who in hopeless despondency weep;
From God's Holy Word consolation we borrow,
For souls who in JESUS Confidingly sleep.
Lament not your loved one, but triumph the rather,
To think of the promise, the prayer of the LAMB;
"Your joy shall be full," and, "I will, O my FATHER,
That those whom Thou giv'st Me may be where I am."
His own sacred lip the assurance hath given:
Believe on your GOD, on your SAVIOUR believe:
I go to prepare you a mansion in heaven,
And quickly returning, My own will receive.
And was it not so with your darling, when saying,
The gate would unclose, and the SAVIOUR appear?
Like Stephen, the glory of JESUS surveying,
He breathed out his spirit with "LORD, Thou art near."
And where is that spirit? Washed white in the fountain,
Presented unblameably pure at the Throne,
The love and the mercy of JESUS recounting,
To souls that are dwelling in joy like his own.
In rapture unsated, in glory unclouded,
He rests before GOD with the angels of light:
Till the form in corruption and darkness now shrouded
Shall rise at the trump, with the soul to unite.
Refined from all grossness, and purged from its leaven,
Its sins blotted out, and its sorrows all fled,
Made meet for a bright habitation in heaven:
Oh, who would not rest with the justified dead!
Nay, weep not for him, for the flower of the morning,
So dear to your bosom, so fair in your eyes;
But weep for the souls unbelieving and scorning
The counsel and truth of the "GOD only wise."
He came to the cross when his young cheek was blooming,
And raised to the LORD the bright glance of his eye; And when o'er its beauty death's darkness was glooming, The cross did uphold him; the SAVIOUR was nigh.
I saw the black pall o'er his pale corpse extended; I wept-but they were not the tear-drops of woe: The prayer of my soul that in fervour ascended Was, LORD, when Thou callest, like him may I go.
Of life's past woes the fading trace
Hath given that aged Patriarch's face
Expression holy, deep, resigned,
The calm sublimity of mind.
Years o'er his snowy head have past,
And left him of his race the last;
Alone of earth, but yet his mien
Is bright with majesty serene;
And those bright hopes, whose guiding star
Shines from eternal worlds afar,
Have with that light illumed his eye
Whose fount is immortality;
And o'er his features poured a ray
Of glory, not to pass away.
He seems a being who hath known
Communion with his GOD alone;
On earth by nought but pity's tie
Detained a moment from on high.
One to sublimer worlds allied,
One from all passions purified;
E'en now half mingled with the sky,
And all prepared, oh! not to die;
But, like the prophet, to aspire
In heaven's triumphal car of fire.
LET the proud veil of darkness be rolled from before Thee,
O LORD, and descend on the wing of the storm: Dispersed or enslaved are the saints that adore Thee,
And the rude hands of strangers Thy temple deform.
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