No answering voice is here, Say--does the soldier sleep?

O yes--upon the bier, His watch no more to keep.

2 Still is that heaven-touched tongue, Pulseless the throbbing breast; That voice with music strung, Forever put to rest.

To rest? A living thought, Undimmed, unquenched, he soars An essence, spirit-wrought, Of yon immortal sh.o.r.es.

3 Peace to thee, man of G.o.d!

Thine earthly toils are o'er, The th.o.r.n.y path is trod, The Shepherd trod before,-- Full well he kept his word-- "I'm with thee to the end; Fear not! I am the Lord, Thy never-failing friend!"

4 We weave no dirge for thee, It should not call a tear To know that thou art free; Thy home--it was not here!

Joy to thee, man of G.o.d!

Thy heaven-course is begun, Unshrinking, thou has trod Death's vale,--thy race is run.

598. 8s. & 7s. M. L. H. Sigourney.

The Same.

1 Pastor, thou art from us taken In the glory of thy years, As the oak, by tempests shaken, Falls ere time its verdure sears.

2 Pale and cold we see thee lying In G.o.d's temple, once so dear, And the mourner's bitter sighing Falls unheeded on thine ear.

3 All thy love and zeal, to lead us Where immortal fountains flow, And on living bread to feed us, In our fond remembrance glow.

4 May the conquering faith, that cheered thee When thy foot on Jordan pressed, Guide our spirits while we leave thee In the tomb that Jesus blessed.

599. C. M. Doddridge.

The Same.

1 What though the arm of conquering death Does G.o.d's own house invade; What though our teacher and our friend Is numbered with the dead;--

2 Though earthly shepherds dwell in dust, The aged and the young; The watchful eye in darkness closed, And dumb th' instructive tongue?

3 Th' eternal Shepherd still survives, His teaching to impart: Lord, be our Leader and our Guide, And rule and keep our heart.

4 Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives, We have a boundless store, And shall be fed with what he gives, Who lives for evermore.

600. 7s. & 6s. M. C. Wesley.

Adieu to a Departed Christian Friend.

1 Farewell, thou once a mortal, Our poor, afflicted friend; Go, pa.s.s the heavenly portal, To G.o.d, thy glorious end.

2 The Author of thy being Hath summoned thee away; And faith is lost in seeing, And night in endless day.

3 With those that went before thee, The saints of ancient days, Who shine in sacred story, Thy soul hath found its place.

4 No loss of friends shall grieve thee; That--we alone must bear; They cannot, cannot leave thee, Thy kind companions there.

5 From all thy care and sorrow Thou art escaped to-day; And we shall mount to-morrow, And soar to thee away.

601. 7s. M. C. Wesley.

The Christian's Death.

1 Lo! the prisoner is released, Lightened of his fleshly load; Where the weary are at rest, He is gathered unto G.o.d: Lo! the pain of life is past, And his warfare now is o'er; Death and h.e.l.l behind are cast, Grief and suffering are no more,

2 Yes! the Christian's course is run, Ended is the glorious strife; Fought the fight, the crown is won, Death is swallowed up of life; Borne by angels on their wings, Far from earth his spirit flies To the Lord he loved, and sings Triumphing in paradise.

3 Join we then with one accord In the new and joyful song; Absent from our glorious Lord We shall not continue long: We shall quit the house of clay, Better joys with him to share; We shall see the realms of day, We shall meet our brethren there.

602. C. M. Knowles.

The Mourner Comforted.

1 O, weep not for the joys that fade Like evening lights away, For hopes that, like the stars decayed, Have left thy mortal day; The clouds of sorrow will depart, And brilliant skies be given; For bliss awaits the holy heart, Amid the bowers of heaven.

2 O weep not for the friends that pa.s.s Into the lonely grave, As breezes sweep the withered gra.s.s Along the restless wave; For though thy pleasures may depart, And mournful days be given; Yet bliss awaits the holy heart, When friends rejoin in heaven.

603. C. M. Wilson.

Consolations in Bereavement.

1 The air of death breathes through our souls, The dead all round us lie; By day and night the death-bell tolls, And says, "Prepare to die!"

2 The loving ones we loved the best, Like music all are gone; And the wan moonlight bathes in rest, Their monumental stone.