181.

L. M.

BRYANT.

1 DEEM not that they are blest alone,
Whose days a peaceful tenor keep;
The God, who loves our race, has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

2 The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears,
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are earnests of serener years.

3 O, there are days of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night!
Grief may abide an evening guest,

But joy shall come with early light.

4 For God hath marked each anguished day,
And numbered every secret tear;
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all His children suffer here.

182.

L. M.

NORTON.

1 O, 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!
Not dark with guilt, or dim with tears;
Whose course is short, unclouded, bright.
3 0, 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 O, stay thy tears: the blest above
Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth,
And sung a song of joy and love:

Then why should anguish reign on earth?

183.

C. M.

HOUGHTON.

1 BLEST be the hour when friends shall meet, Shall meet to part no more,

And with celestial welcome greet,
On an immortal shore.

2 The parent eyes his long-lost child;
Brothers on brothers gaze:.

The tear of resignation mild

Is changed to joy and praise..

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

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

1 AFFLICTION is a stormy deep,

Where wave resounds to wave;

COTTON.

Though o'er our heads the billows roll,
We know the Lord can save.

2 When darkness, and when sorrows rise,
And press on every side,

The Lord shall still sustain our steps,
And still shall be our Guide.

3 Perhaps, before the morning dawn,
He will restore our peace;

For He who bade the tempest roar,
Can bid the tempest cease.

4. Here will we rest, here build our hopes,
Nor murmur at His rod;

He's more to us than all the world,
Our Health, our Life, our God.

185.

-L. M.

NORTON.

1 MY GOD, I thank thee! may no thought
E'er deem thy Providence severe;
But may this heart, by sorrow taught,
Calm each wild wish, each idle fear.

12 Thy mercy bids all nature bloom;

The sun shines bright, and man is gay;
Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom
That darkens o'er his little day.

3 Full many a throb of grief and pain
Thy frail and erring child must know:
But not one prayer is breathed in vain,
Nor does one tear unheeded flow.

4 Thy various messengers employ;
Thy purposes of love fulfill;
And 'mid the wreck of human joy,
Let kneeling faith adore Thy will.

186.

C. M.

THOS. MOORE.

1 0 THOU who driest the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,

If, when bereaved or wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

2 But thou wilt heal that suffering heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

3 O, who could bear life's stormy doom,
Did not Thy wing of love

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above!

4 Then sorrow touched by Thee grows bright, With more than rapture's ray;

187.

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.

L. M.

1 WHY weep for those, in hopeless woe, Who've fled and left us mourning here? Triumphant o'er their latest foe,

They glory in a brighter sphere.

2 Space can not check, thought can not bound,
The high exulting souls, whom He,
Who formed these million worlds around,
Takes to His own eternity.

3 Weep not for them: beside us now

Perhaps they watch with guardian care, And witness tears that idly flow

O'er those who bliss of angels share,

4 Or round their Father's throne above, With raptured voice, His praise they sing; Or on His messages of love

188.

They journey with unwearied wing.

1 So fades the lovely, blooming flower,
Frail, smiling solace of an hour;

189.

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 were not made to die.
3 Then gentle patience smiles on pain,
And dying hope revives again;

Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye,
And faith points upward to the sky.

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

2 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,
When what we now deplore

Shall rise in full, immortal prime,
And bloom to fade no more.

3 Then cease, fond nature, cease thy tears;
Look to the world on high;

There everlasting spring appears,
And joys that can not die.

1 CALM on the bosom of thy God,
Young spirit, rest thee now!

E'en while with us thy footsteps trod,
His seal was on thy brow.

2 Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!

They that have seen thy look in death,
No more may fear to die.

190.