84
Poems.
And when that solemn time doth come,
As come to all it must,
That takes the immortal spirit home,
And yields our frames to dust.
As come to all it must,
That takes the immortal spirit home,
And yields our frames to dust.
Grant, Heavenly Father! we may meet
Resigned, our latest hour;
Humbly to bend at Jesus' feet,
And own His sovereign power!
Resigned, our latest hour;
Humbly to bend at Jesus' feet,
And own His sovereign power!
THE DYING GIRL.
Her lamp of life burns dimly now,
The hectic flush is o'er,
The damp of death is on her brow,
Where smiles are seen no more.
The hectic flush is o'er,
The damp of death is on her brow,
Where smiles are seen no more.
Her eyes have lost their sparkling ray,
Her voice hath lost its tone,
Her pulses soon will cease to play,
And death will claim his own.
Her voice hath lost its tone,
Her pulses soon will cease to play,
And death will claim his own.
And she, the gifted and the loved,
Is passing from the earth:
Forgetting all, forgot in turn,
E'en such is mortal birth.
Is passing from the earth:
Forgetting all, forgot in turn,
E'en such is mortal birth.
