And now in deep slumber they side by side lay.
I have felt, my dear friend, as I’ve witnessed thy grief,
How inadequate language to give thee relief;
And that real relief could never be found
Except from the hand that inflicted the wound.
In the furnace of fire thou wert not alone,
For walking beside thee had ever been one,
The kindest of friends, though thou could’st not him see,
For the scales on thine eyes weighed them down heavily.
Those scales have now fallen; look up, thou canst see
That look of compassion, it’s fixed upon thee.
Raise thine eyes once again, see that head crowned with thorns;
In those feet, hands, and side, see the deep bleeding wounds.
You now know full well why such suffering was borne,
’Twas for thee, and for me, and for every one
Who trusts in his merits and on him alone.
Thy day is just passed, ’tis now evening with thee,
But the faith of the Christian is given to see
The star of bright promise, amid the dark gloom
Which shall light all thy footsteps and gild the lone tomb;
And at the last day mayst thou and thine stand
An unbroken household at Jesus’ right hand.
March 27, 1852.
FOR MY NIECE ANGELINE.
In the morning of life, when all things appear bright,
And far in the distance the shadows of night,
With kind parents still spared thee, and health to enjoy,
What period more fitting thy powers to employ
In the service of him, who his own life has given
To procure thee a crown and a mansion in Heaven.
As a dream that is gone at the breaking of day,
And a tale that’s soon told, so our years pass away.
“Then count that day lost, whose low setting sun
Can see from thy hand no worthy act done.”
Midst the roses of life many thorns thou wilt find,
“But the cloud that is darkest, with silver is lined.”
As the children of Israel were led on their way
By the bright cloud at night, and the dark cloud by day,
So the Christian is led through the straight narrow road
That brings him direct to his home and his God;
And when the last stage of life’s journey is o’er,
And Jordan’s dark waves can affright him no more,
When safely arrived in his own promised land,
He’s permitted with Saints and with Angels to stand,
Then weighed in the balance how light will appear
All the sorrows of life, with his blissful state there.
Oh! let us by faith take a view of him now,
See the crown of bright jewels encircling his brow;
His old tattered robe swept away by the flood,
Is replaced by a new one, the gift of his Lord;
The hand of his Saviour that garment hath wrought,
It is pure stainless white, free from wrinkle and spot.
The streets that he walks in are paved with gold,
And yet it’s transparent as glass we are told;
The pure river of water of life is in view,