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681. 11ş. M. FORD. Through tribulation we enter the kingdom of heaven. 1 The gloom of the night adds a charm to the

morn, Stern winter the spring in its beauty endears; And the darker the cloud on which it is drawn,

The brighter by contrast the rainbow appears 2 So trials and sorrows the Christian prepare

For the rest of the soul that remaineth above On earth tribulation awaits him, but there The smile of a Father's unchangeable love.

682. C. M. FOLLEN.

1 How sweet to be allowed to pray

To God, the Holy One,
With filial love and trust to say,

O God, thy will be done!
2 We in these sacred words can find

A cure for every ill ;
They calm and soothe the troubled mind,

And bid all care be still.
3 0, let that will, which gave me breath,

And an immortal soul,
In joy or grief, in life or death,

My every wish control.
4 O, teach my heart the blessed way

To imitate thy Son !
Teach me, O God, in truth to pray,
Thy will, not mine, be done."

683. L. M. PEABODY.

Heaven. 1 0, when the hours of life are past,

And death's dark shade arrives at last, It is not sleep,—it is not rest,

"Tis glory opening to the blest. 2 Their way to heaven was pure from sin,

And Christ shall there receive them in; There each shall wear a robe of light,

Like his, divinely fair and bright.
3 There parted hearts again shall meet

In union holy, calm and sweet;
Their grief find rest, and never more

Shall sorrow call them to deplore.
4 There angels will unite their prayers

With spirits bright and blest as theirs, And light shall glance on every crown,

From suns that never more go down. 5 For there the God of mercy sheds

His purest influence on their heads,
And gilds the spirits round the throne
With glory radiant as his own.

684. C. M. PEABODY.

Peaceful death of the Pious. 1 BEHOLD the western evening light!

It melts in deepening gloom; So calmly Christians sink away,

Descending to the tomb.

2 The winds breathe low ;-the yellow leaf

Scarce whispers from the tree:
So gently flows the parting breath,

When good men cease to be. 3 How beautiful on all the hills

The crimson light is shed !
T is like the peace the Christian gives

To mourners round his bed.
4 How mildly on the wandering cloud

The sunset beam is cast !
So sweet the memory left behind

When loved ones breathe their last. 5 And lo! above the dews of night

The vesper-star appears !
So faith lights up the mourner's heart,

Whose eyes are dim with tears. 6 Night falls--but soon the morning light

Its glories shall restore;
And thus the eyes that sleep in death

Shall wake to close no more.

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Blessedness of the pious dead.
10 stay thy tears; for they are blest,

Whose days are past, whose toil is done:
Here midnight care disturbs our rest;

Here sorrow dims the noonday sun. 2 How blest are they whose transient years

Pass like an evening meteor's flight!
Nor dark with guilt, nor dim with tears;
Whose course is short, unclouded, bright.

3 O, cheerless were our lengthened way;

But Heaven's own light dispels the gloom, Streams downward from eternal day,

And casts a glory round the tomb. 4 0, stay thy tears; the blest above

Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth,
And sing a song of joy and love;
Then why should anguish reign on earth?

686. 8 & 7s. M. S. F. SMITH.

The Departed.
1 Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,

Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening,

When it floats among the trees.

2 Peaceful be thy silent slumber,

Peaceful in the grave so low; Thou no more wilt join our number;

Thou no more our song shalt know. 3 Dearest sister, thou hast left us;

Here thy loss we deeply feel;
But 't is God that hath bereft us:

He can all our sorrows heal.

4 Yet again we hope to meet thee,

When the day of life is fled,
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,

Where no farewell tear is shed.


692. L. M. C. SPRAGUE.

For the Blessing of Schools. 1 0 Thou, at whose dread name we bend,

To whom our purest vows we pay,
God over all, in love descend,

And bless the labors of this day. 2 Our fathers here, a pilgrim band,

Fixed the proud empire of the free;
Art moved in gladness o'er the land,

And Faith her altars reared to thee.
3 Here, too, to guard, through every age,

The sacred rights their valor won,
They bade instruction spread her page,

And send down truth from sire to son. 4 Here still, through all succeeding time,

Their stores may truth and learning bring,
And still the anthem-note sublime
To thee from children's children ring.

693. L. M. J. Q. Adams.

Death of Children.
1 SURE, to the mansions of the blest

When infant innocence ascends,
Some angel, brighter than the rest,

The spotless spirit's flight attends. 2 On wings of ecstasy they rise,

Beyond where worlds material roll,
Till some fair sister of the skies
Receives the unpolluted soul.

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