HOU art gone to the grave, we no longer deplore thee,

Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and

guide;

He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore

thee,

And death has no sting, for the Saviour hath

died.

BISHOP HEBER.

F blessedness doth peace attend,
His life was blessed to the end.

ELF-TUTORED, she, above all rules of art, The child of nature, played her blameless part, And sank with such unsullied soul to rest,

As Heaven first breathed into her infant breast.

HE in joyful hope resigned her breath,
And in her dying moments conquered death.

T is a sad and awful thing to die!

'Twas so with her; but the dread path once trod, Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high,

And bids the pure in heart behold their God.

D

HE died as she had lived, a bright example of every virtue and accomplishment that make life happiness, and death a blessing.

HE was endowed with a mind so clear,

That all who knew him loved him, far and near; But God, his Father, loved him best,

And took him to his heavenly rest

In glory.

HROUGH all life's changeful day he toiled,

Till, in its evening dim,

There came a messenger of love,

(Oh! not a tyrant grim!)

Who told him, in fair mansions bright,
Beyond his soaring fancy's flight,

In a sweet Paradise of light,

The Lord had need of him.

HE loved God with all her heart, gloried in Jesus Christ, suffered with unwearied patience, and finished her course with joy.

Q

NE equal to him I have not known, nor do I expect to find another such on this side eternity.

HE sleeps in Jesus, but shall soon arise,

To claim, through Him, her mansion in the skies; Because He lives, she too shall live again, To share the glories of an endless name.

HE grave is but the Christian's bed,
On which her wearied body's laid;
While to her ransomed soul is given
To see her Saviour's face in heaven.

F his great worth to know, who seeketh more, Must mount to heaven, where he is gone before.

HE spirit now, with choicest grace,
Arrays herself for that high place
She owns in yonder sphere;

And round her draws her nuptial dress
Of heaven's own perfect holiness,
The shadow of that loveliness

She lets ye gaze on here.

IFE'S duty done, as sinks the day,
Light from its load the spirit flies;
While heaven and earth combine to say,

How blest the righteous when he dies!

BUT when we die we rest, far,

Not over us the lime-trees lift their bowers,
the young sycamores their shadows sway
O'er graves that are not ours.

Yet he is happy, wheresoe'er he lie,

Round whom the purple calms of Eden spread; Who sees his Saviour with the heart's pure eye, He is the happy dead.

HEN he is tried, he shall receive the crown of

life.

JAMES i. 12.

DEATH of its sting disarmed, she knew no fear,

But tasted heaven e'en while she lingered here;

O happy saint! may we like thee be blest,
In life be faithful, and in death find rest.

TRANGER! if e'er by chance or feeling led, Upon this hallowed turf thy footsteps tread, Turn from the contemplation of the sod, And think on her whose spirit rests with God.

THIS hour, perhaps, our friend is well;

The next, we hear his passing bell.

IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN?

Job xiv. 14.

OW is Christ risen from the dead, and become

Now

the firstfruits of them that slept. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. 1 Cor. xv. 20, 22.

ALM on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit, rest thee now;

E'en while with us thy footsteps trod,

His seal was on thy brow.

IGHT lies the turf upon the guiltless breast,
Whose mansion pure no earth-born passion

stained;

Where pride ne'er gloomed on its continued rest,

Nor factious envy with her breath profaned.