HEN we sink on the bosom of night,
With toil or with trouble outworn,

We await the return of the light,
In the hope of a happier morn.

HESE overcame by the blood of the Lamb, and

the word of his testimony.

REV. xii. 11.

HERE is the victory of the grave?
What dust upon the spirit lies?
God keeps the sacred life he gave—
The prophet never dies!

J. G. WHITTIER.

OD'S acre! yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts— Their bread of life-Alas! no more their own.

LONGFELLOW.

'OR spirits round the throne,
How vain the tears we shed!

They are the living, they alone,

Whom thus we call the dead.

SIGOURNEY.

REFLECT, my soul, and think what 'tis to die :

One fatal stroke dissolves the tender tie; Tired with its prison, cumbered with its clay, The long imprisoned spirit soars away.

W

HY should death be linked with fear?

A single breath—a low-drawn sigh—
Can break the ties that bind us here,
And waft the spirit to the sky.

MRS. A. B. WELBY.

EATH is a bed of spices to all believers, ever since He lay in it who is the Rose of Sharon

and the Lily of the valley.

PHILIP HENRY.

HY dying, Lord, in church or home,

In life, in death, we see:

Until Thou to the living come,

The dying come to Thee.

HE flowers were sweet, but their fragrance is flown,

They yielded no fruits, they are withered and gone: The thorn it was poignant, but precious to me; 'Twas the message of mercy-it led me to Thee.

HERE all are equal.

ERE all are equal. Side by side,

The poor man and the son of pride

Lie calm and still.

STOWE.

IKE as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.

PSALM ciii. 13.

NGEL of patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling balm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
And throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will.

Oh! thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day;
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned.”
Bear up,
bear on the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!

J. C. WHITTIER.

F

ULL many a hapless victim yet unborn,

O death, all conquering! at thy feet must fall,

Before the dawning of that glorious morn

When thou shalt yield, and God be all in all.

RACE is a taste of bliss, a glorious gift, Which can the soul to heavenly comforts lift.

SIR T. BEAUMONT.

YES! we must all be changed by death,

Such is the form the dead must wear;

And so, when beauty yields her breath,
So shall the fairest face appear.

Then let us in religious light

This scene of terror calm survey;
And, through the dark and gloomy night,
Watch for the dawn of endless day.

HEARD a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord.

REV. xiv. 13.

IS vain my soul, 'tis impious all,
The human lot to mourn;
That life so soon must flee away,

And dust to dust return.

FITZGERALD.

LL go into one place; all are of the dust, and

all turn to dust again.

ECCLES. iii. 20.

ND soon as man, expert from time, has found The key of life, it opes the gate of death.

YOUNG.

IME was I stood where thou dost now, And viewed the dead as thou dost me; Ere long you'll lie as low as I,

And others stand and look on thee.

ARTH has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.

F

EAR no more the heat of sun,
Nor the furious winter's blast;
Thou the worldly race hast run,

And the dream of life is past.
Monarchs, sages, peasants, must
Follow thee, and come to dust.

HIS is life's goal, no farther can we view; Beyond it, all is wonderful and new.

O live in hearts we leave behind

Is not to die.

CAMPBELL.