38 SPIRITUAL MERCIES BETTER THAN TEMPORAL.

Get thy heart more affected with spiritual losses, and then thy soul will be less afflicted with temporal losses. Hast thou lost nothing of that presence of God that once thou hadst with thy spirit? Hast thou lost none of those warmings, meltings, quickenings, and cheerings that once thou hadst? Hast thou lost nothing of thy communion with God, nor of the joys of the Spirit, nor of that peace of conscience, that thou once enjoyedst? Hast thou lost none of that ground that once thou hadst got upon sin, Satan, and the world? Hast thou lost nothing of that holy vigor, and heavenly heat, that once thou hadst in thy heart? If thou hast not, which would be a miracle, a wonder, why dost thou complain of this or that temporal loss? For what is this but to complain of the loss of thy purse, when thy gold is safe? But if thou art a loser in spirituals, why dost thou not rather complain that thou hast lost thy God, than that thou hast lost thy gold? and that thou hast lost thy Christ, than that thou hast lost thy husband? and that thou hast lost thy peace, than that thou hast lost thy child? and that thou art a loser in spirituals, than that thou art a loser in temporals? Dost thou mourn over the body the soul hath left? Mourn rather over the soul that God hath forsaken, as Samuel did for Saul, (1 Sam. xv. 35.)

ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.

GREEN be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.

Tears fell, when thou wert dying,
From eyes unused to weep;
And long, where thou art lying,
Will tears the cold turf steep.

When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth,
There should a wreath be woven,
To tell the world their worth.

And I, who woke each morrow
To clasp thy hand in mine,
Who shared thy joy and sorrow,
Whose weal and woe were thine,—

It should be mine to braid it

Around thy faded brow;

But I've in vain essayed it,
And feel I cannot now.

40

DEATH NOT FORMIDABLE TO THE CHRISTIAN.

While memory bids me weep thee,
Nor thoughts nor words are free,
The grief is fixed too deeply,

That mourns a man like thee.

DEATH NOT FORMIDABLE TO THE CHRISTIAN.

SAURIN.

DEATH has nothing that is formidable to the Christian. In the tomb of Jesus Christ are dissipated all the terrors which the tomb of nature presents. In the tomb of nature I perceive a gloomy night, which the eye is unable to penetrate; in the tomb of Jesus Christ I behold light and life. In the tomb of nature the punishment of sin stares me in the face; in the tomb of Jesus Christ I find the expiation of it. In the tomb of nature I read the fearful doom pronounced upon Adam, and upon all his miserable posterity, "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return," (Gen. iii. 19;) but in the tomb of Jesus Christ my tongue is loosed into this triumphant song of praise: "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

. Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ." (1 Cor. xv. 55, 57.) “Through death he hath destroyed him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; that he might deliver them who, through fear of death, were all their lifetime subject to bondage."

DEATH NO LONGER THE KING OF TERRORS.

G. MOORE.

THE true believer always connects the moral attributes of Deity with his conceptions of divine power; and with him, therefore, providence is but another name for the Creator's faithfulness to his creatures. Throughout the wide universe, Faith beholds evidence that goodness regulates might; so that all her expectations are raptures, because all futurity, all eternity, can be nothing but the unfolding of love. Hence Death is no longer the king of terrors, with uplifted hand ready to strike the trembling heart, but like an angel at the bed of a slumbering child, fanning it to sleep with a lily plucked from paradise, and filling the soul with visions of heaven, by blending in brightness, before its eyes, the sweetest images of earthly beauty and affection.

4*

42

HE HAS GONE TO HIS GOD.

HE HAS GONE TO HIS GOD.

ANDREWS NORTON.

He has gone to his God; he has gone to his home; No more amid peril and error to roam.

His eyes are no longer dim ;

His feet will no more falter;

No grief can follow him;

No pang his cheek can alter.

There are paleness, and weeping, and sighs below;
For our faith is faint, and our tears will flow.
But the harps of heaven are ringing;

Glad angels come to greet him;

And hymns of joy are singing,

While old friends press to meet him.

O, honored, beloved, to earth unconfined,
Thou hast soared on high, thou hast left us behind.
But our parting is not forever;

We will follow thee by heaven's light,

Where the grave cannot dissever

The souls whom God will unite.