82
Poems.
He dries the tears from mourner's eyes,
And bids the trembling spirit rise.
And though thy heart may faint for rest,
Let Heaven animate thy breast:
'Mid life's dark ills trace God's decrees,
And feel that mercy still thee sees;
Sees with an eye that never sleeps,—
Unwearied, watchful, near thee keeps:
Turn to that Holy One above,
Drink of the fount of endless love;
Arouse thee, fix thy thoughts on Heaven,
And taste the refuge grace hath given
Oh, may this cheer thy spirit's sight,
"His yoke is easy—burden light."
And bids the trembling spirit rise.
And though thy heart may faint for rest,
Let Heaven animate thy breast:
'Mid life's dark ills trace God's decrees,
And feel that mercy still thee sees;
Sees with an eye that never sleeps,—
Unwearied, watchful, near thee keeps:
Turn to that Holy One above,
Drink of the fount of endless love;
Arouse thee, fix thy thoughts on Heaven,
And taste the refuge grace hath given
Oh, may this cheer thy spirit's sight,
"His yoke is easy—burden light."
THE FAREWELL.
Oh, do not breathe that little word,
It hath a withering sound;
For painful thoughts are with it stirred,
Though all be bright around.
It hath a withering sound;
For painful thoughts are with it stirred,
Though all be bright around.
For who hath fortitude to meet,
Unnerved, the magic spell,
That lingers in the dying notes,
Of the faint-spoke farewell.
Unnerved, the magic spell,
That lingers in the dying notes,
Of the faint-spoke farewell.
