1 As, bowed by sudden storms, the rose Sinks on the garden's breast, Down to the grave our brother goes, In silence there to rest.

2 No more with us his tuneful voice The hymn of praise shall swell; No more his cheerful heart rejoice When peals the Sabbath bell.

3 Yet, if, in yonder cloudless sphere Amid a sinless throng, He utters in his Saviour's ear The everlasting song,--

4 No more we'll mourn the absent friend, But lift our earnest prayer, And daily every effort bend To rise and join him there.

580. C. M. Houghton.

The Re-union of Friends after Death.

1 Blest be the hour when friends shall meet, Shall meet to part no more, And with celestial welcome greet, On an immortal sh.o.r.e.

2 Sweet hope, deep cherished, not in vain, Now art thou richly crowned!

All that was dead revives again; All that was lost is found!

3 The parent eyes his long-lost child; Brothers on brothers gaze: The tear of resignation mild Is changed to joy and praise.

4 And while remembrance, lingering still, Draws joy from sorrowing hours; New prospects rise, new pleasures fill The soul's capacious powers.

5 Their Father fans their generous flame, And looks complacent down; The smile that owns their filial claim Is their immortal crown.

581. L. M. Anonymous.

"Not lost, but gone before."

1 Say, why should friendship grieve for those Who safe arrive on Canaan's sh.o.r.e?

Released from all their hurtful foes, They are not lost--but gone before.

2 How many painful days on earth Their fainting spirits numbered o'er!

Now they enjoy a heavenly birth; They are not lost--but gone before.

3 Dear is the spot where Christians sleep, And sweet the strain which angels pour; O why should we in anguish weep?

They are not lost--but gone before.

582. L. M. Epis. Coll.

Death of an Infant.

1 As the sweet flower that scents the morn, But withers in the rising day, Thus lovely was this infant's dawn, Thus swiftly fled its life away.

2 It died ere its expanding soul Had ever burnt with wrong desires, Had ever spurned at Heaven's control, Or ever quenched its sacred fires.

3 Yet the sad hour that took the boy Perhaps has spared a heavier doom,-- s.n.a.t.c.hed him from scenes of guilty joy, Or from the pangs of ills to come.

4 He died to sin; he died to care; But for a moment felt the rod; Then, rising on the viewless air, Spread his light wings, and soared to G.o.d.

583. L. M. Steele.

The Same.

1 So fades the lovely, blooming flower, Frail, smiling solace of an hour; So soon our transient comforts fly, And pleasure only blooms to die.

2 Is there no kind, no healing art, To soothe the anguish of the heart?

Spirit of grace, be ever nigh: Thy comforts are not made to die.

3 Let gentle patience smile on pain, Till dying hope revives again; Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye, And faith points upward to the sky.

584. C. M. Steele.

Death of a Child.

1 Life is a span,--a fleeting hour: How soon the vapor flies!

Man is a tender, transient flower, That e'en in blooming dies.

2 The once-loved form, now cold and dead, Each mournful thought employs; And nature weeps, her comforts fled, And withered all her joys.

3 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time, When what we now deplore Shall rise in full, immortal prime, And bloom to fade no more.

4 Cease, then, fond nature, cease thy tears; Thy Saviour dwells on high; There everlasting spring appears; There joy shall never die.

585. 7s. & 6s. M. Anonymous.

Children in Heaven.