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SHALL WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD?
Shall we mourn for the dead, shall we sorrow for
those Who are called from their mansions of clay, Who have done with the world, with its trials and
Yes, yes, we will mourn, if the hope be withheld,
That a fitness for death had been given ;
But if it were theirs on the hope to lay hold,
That in Jesus is offered to all, For ourselves we may weep as the day we behold ;
But for them not a tear-drop shall fall.-Anon.
THE MOTHER'S COMFORT.
I had a son, a little son, his age I cannot tell,
is gone to dwell: To us far less than four short years, his infant
smiles were given, And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to
live in Heaven. I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he
weareth now, Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining
seraph brow: The thoughts which fill his sinless soul, the bliss
which he doth feel, Are numbered with the secret things which God
will not reveal; But I know, for God doth tell me this, that he is
now at rest, Where other blessed infants be, in their Saviour's
loving breast. I know his spirit feels no more, this weary load of
But his sleep is blest with endless dreams of joy
for ever fresh; I know the angels fold him close beneath their
glittering wings, And soothe him with a song that breathes of
Heaven's divinest things. I know that we shall meet our babe, his father
dear, and I, Where God for aye, shall wipe away all tears from
every eye. Whate'er befals us here below, his life can never
cease, Our lot may here be grief and care,—but his is
certain peace. When we think of what our darling is, and what
we still may be, When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, and
this world's misery; When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel
this grief and pain, Oh! we'd rather give up every thing than have
him back again.—Moultrie.
A MOTHER'S DIRGE OVER HER CHILD.
Bring me flowers, all young and sweet, That I my strew the winding sheet, Where calm thou sleepest baby fair, With roseless cheeks, and auburn hair !
Bring me the rosemary, whose breath
Bring cypress from some sunless spot,
Oh, what upon this earth doth prove