FRIENDS SEPARATED BY DEATH.
No more to join the desolated spray y!
Ev'n so man's leaf descends into the dust,
And falls to rise no more. But as the boug
At spring's return another leaf shall find,
And clothe itself again; the good and just,
Though naked and bereft their branches no
To vernal honours will again be joined,
In leaves that never shall their fall deplore,
Whose bough the winter's hand shall touch
FRIENDS SEPARATED BY DEATH.
FRIEND after friend departs!
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end!
Were this frail world our final rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.
Beyond the flight of time
Beyond the reign of death-
There surely is some blessed clime,
Where life is not a breath:
Nor life's affection transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward and expire.
THOUGHTS IN A CHURCHYARD.
Fountain of Being! teach us to devote To thee each purpose, action, word, and thought;
Be this in every state our wish alone,
Almighty, Wise, and Good, thy will be done.
THOUGHTS IN A CHURCHYARD.
eyes have seen the
rosy light
Of youth's soft cheek decay;
And death descend in sudden night
On manhood's middle day.
Our eyes have seen the steps of age
Halt feebly towards the tomb;
And yet shall earth our hearts engage,
And dreams of days to come?
Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know,
Where'er thy foot can tread;
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of the dead.
Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply
To truths divinely given;
The bones that underneath thee lie
Shall live for hell or heaven.
THE THREE MOUNTAINS.
WHEN on Sinai's top I see
God descend in majesty,
To proclaim his holy law,
All my spirit sinks with awe.
When, in ecstasy sublime,
Tabor's glorious steep I climb,
At the too transporting light
Darkness rushes o'er my sight.
When on Calvary I rest,
God, in flesh made manifest,
Shines in my Redeemer's face,
Full of mercy, truth, and grace.
Here I would for ever stay,
Thankful for the gospel day;
Thou art heaven on earth to me,
Lovely, mournful Calvary!
J. MONTGOMERY.
THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST.
How sweet, in the musing of faith, to repair
To the garden where Mary delighted to rove, To sit by the tomb where she breathed her fond prayer,
And paid her sad tribute of sorrow and love.
O Saviour! as oft as our footsteps we bend,
In penitent sadness, to weep at thy grave,
On the wings of thy greatness in pity descend,
Be ready to comfort, and "mighty to save." We shrink not from scenes of desertion and woe, If there we may meet with the Lord whom we love;
Contented, with Mary, to sorrow below,
If, with her, we may drink of thy fountain above.
THE AWAKENED SINNER.
HIS conscience, like a glassy lake, before,
Lashed into foaming waves, begins to roar;
The law grown clamorous, though silent long,
Arraigns him, charges him with every wrong,
Asserts the rights of his offended Lord,
And death or restitution is the word;
The last impossible, he fears the first,
And, having well deserved, expects the worst.
Then welcome refuge, and a peaceful home-
Oh, for a shelter from the wrath to come!
Crush me, ye rocks, ye falling mountains, hide,
Or bury me in ocean's angry tide!—
The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes
I dare not And you need not, God replies;
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