IV. THE BURIAL OF MOSES. Y Nebo's lovely mountain, On this fide Jordan's wave, In a vale of the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave. But no man dug that fepulchre, And no one faw it e'er ; For the Angels of God upturned the fod, And laid the dead man there. That was the grandeft funeral forth. Or faw the train go Noifeleffly as the daylight Comes, when the night is done, Or the crimson ftreak on Ocean's cheek Fades in the setting fun Noifeleffly as the spring time, So, without found of mufic, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown That grand proceffion fwept. Perchance fome bald old eagle, On gray Beth-Peor's height, Out of his rocky eyrie, Looked on the wondrous fight; Perchance fome lion, stalking, Still fhuns the hallowed spot; For beaft and bird have seen and heard But when the warrior dieth, With arms reversed and muffled drums, Follow the funeral car ; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his matchless steed, Amid the nobleft of the land They lay the fage to reft; In the great minster's transept high, While the sweet choir fings, and the organ rings This was the braveft warrior That ever breathed a word; On the deathless page, words half so fage And had he not high honour? The dark rock-pines, like toffing plumes, Over his bier to wave, And God's own hand, in that lovely land, In that deep grave without a name, Shall break again-moft wondrous thought! Before the judgment day; And ftand with glory wrapped around, On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life, O filent tomb in Moab's land, O dark Beth-Peor's hill, Speak to these curious hearts of ours, Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the sacred sleep Of him He loved fo well. C. F. A. V. DEPARTED FRIENDS. RIEND after friend departs; Who hath not loft a friend? There is no union here of hearts That finds not here an end; Were this frail world our final reft, Living or dying none were bleft. There furely is fome bleffed clime There is a world above, Where parting is unknown A long eternity of love Formed for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying here Tranflated to that glorious fphere. Thus ftar by ftar declines, As morning high and higher fhines Nor fink thofe ftars in empty night, But hide themselves in Heaven's own light. JAMES MONTGOMERY. VI. THE DEPARTED MISSIONARY. HOU art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Though forrows and darkness encompass the tomb; The Saviour has paffed through its portal before thee, And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom! Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy fide; But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee, And finners may die, for THE SINLESS has died! Thou art gone to the grave! and, its manfion forfaking, Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long; But the mild rays of Paradife beamed on thy waking, And the found which thou heardft was the Seraphim’s fong! Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Whofe God was thy ranfom, thy guardian and guide: He gave thee, He took thee, and He will reftore thee; And death has no fting, for the Saviour has died! BISHOP HEBER. |