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Tho' he undaunted bravd the fight,

And charg'd amidst the slain. This tear like that insidious worm,

Which gnaws the giant oak, Hath levell'd many a noble heart,

And many a heart-string broke.
This tear ne'er courts the busy crowd,

With sympathy to feel ;
Nor bids its victim seek those scenes,

Where joy is wont to heal.
Yet, there is one who feels our pain,

Whose hand can send relief,
Who tho' this world may yield no joy

Can mitigate our grief,
And oh! should sorrows path be mine,

That path which Jesus trod;
May the weak heart grow strong in faith,

And soar unto its God.
And full of hope, and joy, and bliss,

May I from earth arise,
When death has set the spirit free,

And wing'd it to the skies.

Her :




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Faith bids the soul ascend on high,

And opens up the gate of bliss;
Her restless wing explores the sky,

And wafts its tidings back to us.
She speaks of joys the blessed know,

And tells of scenes divinely fair
Where streams of gladness ever flow,

And bids us look with wonder there.
Our friends may fill an early grave,

Our every hope in life be lost;
And 'midst the storm the rising wave

May see our bark 'midst breakers tost,
But Faith can gild the dreary tomb,

Where early friends in silence sleep;
And her bright arch can re-illume

That shore beyond the swelling deep.

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Faith speaks of myriads round the throne,

Who once were suff'rers here below;
And shows the path which led them on

To glory from a scene of woe.
She speaks of one whom hosts adore.-

Whom Angels worship in the sky; 'Tis to the Lamb for evermore

Who once for guilty man did die. Faith, saving faith worlds cannot chain,

To earth's ignoble low abode; And pleasure's voice allures in vain

To keep her from the throue of God, Her chariot is the lightning's wing,

The Martyr's cup her brightest prize ; And death, tho' cruel, will but bring

Faith to full vision in the skies.



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Who early taught our infant lips to pray,
And led our tottering steps to walk in wisdom's way:
A parent is indeed a tender friend,

And, if once lost, we never more shall find
A bosom that so tremblingly can blend

Its feelings with our own congenial mind;
Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind
That hurries hieedlessly and wildly by-

Our hearts, to lonely agony consign'd,
May throb without relief for no reply
Comes from the mould'ring breasts that in their

grave-bed lie.
And then we pause to think-alas! how late!--

Of deeds that wrung a parent's heart with pain : And oh ! could we but open death's dark gate ;

And lead them back into the world again

Oh! but once more to see their face !--tis vain !
Once more to hear their

voice !-'tis sweetly driven
Across our fancy, and expires, and then
We wish ourselves away-away to heaven,
To weep upon their breast and there to be forgiven.




Love, the new Commandment.

BEHOLD, where, breathing love divine,

Our dying Master stands !
His weeping followers, gathering round,

Receive his last commands.
From that mild teacher's parting lips

What tender accents fell!


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