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On Christian mourners, while they wait
In silence, by some church-yard gate,
Their summons to the holy rite.

And such the tones of love, which break
The stillness of that hour,

Quelling th' embitter'd spirit's strife-
"The Resurrection and the Life

"Am I believe, and die no more.'

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Unchanged that voice-and though not yet
The dead sit up and speak,
Answering its call; we gladlier rest
Our darlings on earth's quiet breast,
And our hearts feel they must not break.

Far better they should sleep awhile
Within the church's shade,

Nor wake, until new heavens, new earth,
Meet for their new immortal birth,

For their abiding place be made,

Than wander back to life, and lean
On our frail love once more.
'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse

How grows in Paradise our store.

Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on,
Through prayer unto the tomb,
Still, as ye watch life's falling leaf,
Gathering from every loss and grief
Hope of new spring and endless home.

Then cheerly to your work again

With hearts new-braced and set
To run, untir'd, love's blessed race,
As meet for those, who face to face
Over the grave their Lord have met.



He that was dead rose up and spoke — He spoke ! Was it of that majestic world unknown?

Those words, which first the bier's dead silence


Came they with revelation in each tone? Were the far cities of the nations gone,

The solemn halls of consciousness or sleep, For man uncurtain'd by that spirit lone,

Back from their portal summon'd o'er the deep? Be hush'd, my soul! the veil of darkness lay Still drawn thy Lord call'd back the voice



To spread his truth, to comfort his weak-hearted,
Not to reveal the mysteries of its way.
O! take that lesson home in silent faith,
Put on submissive strength to meet, not question,

Mrs Hemans.


"And he arose, aud rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea; ' Peace, be still." "- Mark iv. 39.

FEAR was within the tossing bark,

When stormy winds grew loud;
And waves came rolling high and dark,
And the tall mast was bow'd.

And men stood breathless in their dread,
And baffled in their skill-

But One was there, who rose and said
To the wild sea, "Be still!"

And the wind ceas'd:-it ceased!-that word
Passed through the gloomy sky;

The troubled billows knew their Lord,
And sank beneath his eye.

And slumber settled on the deep,
And silence on the blast,

As when the righteous falls asleep,
When death's fierce throes are past.

Thou that didst rule the angry hour,

And tame the tempest's mood;
O send thy spirit forth in power,
O'er our dark souls to brood!

Thou that didst bow the billows' pride,
Thy mandates to fulfil;

Speak, speak to passion's raging tide,
Speak, and say-"Peace, be still."


"And he put them all out, and took her by the hand, and called, saying; 'Maid, arise.' "——— Luke viii. 54.

Mrs Hemans.

THEY have watched her last and quivering breath, And the maiden's soul has flown;

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They have wrapped her in the robes of death, And laid her, dark and lone.

But the mother casts a look behind,

Upon that fallen flower,

Nay, start not 'twas the gathering wind;
Those limbs have lost their power.

And tremble not at that cheek of snow,
O'er which the faint light plays;
"T is only the crimsoned curtain's glow,
Which thus deceives thy gaze.

Didst thou not close that expiring eye,
And feel the soft pulse decay?

And did not thy lips receive the sigh
Which bore her soul away ?

She lies on her couch, all pale and hushed,
And heeds not thy gentle tread,

And is still as the spring-flower by traveller crushed,

Which dies on its snowy bed.

The mother has flown from that lonely room,
And the maid is mute and pale;
Her ivory hand is cold as the tomb,
And dark is her stiffened nail.

Her mother strays with folded arms,
And her head is bent in wo;

She shuts her thoughts to joy or charms;
No tear attempts to flow.

But listen! what name salutes her ear?
It comes to a heart of stone;
"Jesus," she cries, "has no power here;
My daughter's life has flown."

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