CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION ON THE DEATH OF

FRIENDS.

OH! come it first, or come it last,
The shadow o'er my passage cast,
Grant it may find me on my guard,
And at thy will, O God, prepared
To welcome the approaching gloom,
The deep dark stillness of the tomb!
'Tis but a transitory night:

The sun shall rise, and all be light!

Sweet thought, and of sweet solace full,

And apt the swelling grief to lull

Of those, beside a parting friend
Constrained in bitterness to bend ;
The form, so cherished once and dear,
To follow on his funeral bier;

And see the grave above it close,

The last "long home" of man's repose.

It has been said, and I believe,

Though tears of natural sorrow start, "Tis mixed with pleasure when we grieve For those the dearest to the heart,

From whom long-lived at length we part;

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, 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

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
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,

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:

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!

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.

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

Have gained, a fair and goodly lot,
Enduring, and that changeth not.
And who that home of freedom there
Will with this prison-house compare?

"Tis grief to feel, that we behind,

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,
With them to waken and be blest

O Thou, who formest thy creature's mind

With thoughts that chasten and that cheer,
Grant me to fill my space assigned

For sojourning a stranger here
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, "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,

And life in bliss unites whom death no more shall part.

TRUE KNOWLEDGE.

WHAT is true knowledge ?-Is it with keen eye
Of lucre's sons to thread the mazy way?
Is it of civic rights, and royal sway,

And wealth political, the depths to try?
Is it to delve the earth, or soar the sky;

To marshal nature's tribes in just array;
To mix, and analyse, and mete, and weigh
Her elements, and all her powers descry?

These things, who will may know them, if to know

Breed not vain-glory: but o'er all to scan God, in his works and word shewn forth below;

Creation's wonders; and Redemption's plan; Whence came we; what to do; and whither go: This is true knowledge, and "the whole of man."

THE LORD'S DAY.

HAIL to the day, which He, who made the heaven,
Earth, and their armies, sanctified and blest,
Perpetual memory of the Maker's rest!

Hail to the day, when He, by whom was given
New life to man, the tomb asunder riven,

Arose! That day his Church hath still confest,
At once Creation's and Redemption's feast,
Sign of a world called forth, a world forgiven.
Welcome that day, the day of holy peace,

The Lord's own day! to man's Creator owed,
And man's Redeemer; for the soul's increase
In sanctity, and sweet repose bestowed;
Type of the rest when sin and care shall cease,
The rest remaining for the loved of God!

THE HOUSE OF GOD.

IT is the Sabbath bell, which calls to prayer,
Even to the House of God, the hallowed dome,
Where He who claims it bids his people come
To bow before his throne, and serve Him there
With prayers, and thanks, and praises. Some there are
Who hold it meet to linger now at home,

And some o'er fields and the wide hills to roam, And worship in the temple of the air!

For me, not heedless of the lone address,

Nor slack to greet my Maker on the height,
By wood, or living stream; yet not the less

Seek I his presence in each social rite
Of his own temple: that He deigns to bless,
There still He dwells, and there is his delight.

THE VILLAGE CHURCH.

DEAR is the ancient village church, which rears
By the lone yew, on lime or elm-girt mound,
Its modest fabric: dear, 'mid pleasant sound
Of bells, the gray embattled tower, that wears,
Of changeful hue, the marks of by-gone years;

Buttress, and porch, and arch with mazy round
Of curious fret or shapes fantastic crowned;
Tall pinnacles, and mingled window-tiers,
Norman, or misnamed Gothic. Fairer spot
Thou givest not, England, to the tasteful eye,

Nor to the heart more soothing. Blest their lot,

Knew they their bliss, who own, their dwelling nigh,

Such resting-place; there, by the world forgot,

In life to worship, and, when dead, to lie!

THE CHURCH BELLS.

WHAT varying sounds from yon grey pinnacles
Sweep o'er the ear, and claim the heart's reply!
Now the blithe peal of home festivity,

Natal or nuptial, in full concert swells:
Now the brisk chime, or voice of altered bells,
Speaks the due hour of social worship nigh:
And now the last stage of mortality

The deep dull toll with lingering warning tells.