To Jesus midst the tomb, Ithuriel,
And Selia, and them, with looks of joy,
Soon Salem joined, and held them in embrace
Of tenderness; soft glowed his countenance,
Serene in gladness, and his forehead fair
Beamed with immortal light; and as the gates
Of the loved morning in the tide of spring
Opening, fresh incense breathe, so from his mouth
Fell the soft words, in sweetest eloquence.
Seraphs, no more lament, for midst yon tombs, Near Jesus, stands his loved disciple, John! Behold him, and forget Iscariot!
As an immortal, by his Lord he walks!
His Lord to him his heart divine unveils,
And oft with him sweetest communion holds;
As Gabriel and Eloa's friendship, or
The love which Abdiel, Abbadona bore,
While yet he lived in God's allegiance.
Such is the love Messiah bears to John!
Nor he unworthy, for no fairer spirit
On mortal man by the Creator's breath
Was e'er bestowed, than the unspotted soul
Of this disciple; the immortal birth
I witnessed, while bright bands of seraphim
Thus bade sweet welcome to their sister soul.
Hail to thy fair creation, deathless friend,
Blest daughter of the breath of God, O thou
Beauteous as Salem, and as Raphael bright;
From thee shall flow divinest thoughts, as dew
From clouds of morn descend, and thy pure heart
With transport melt, as angel eyes, that shed
O'er some ennobled deed enraptured tears.
Blest daughter of the breath of God, fair soul,
Sister to that bright spirit that erst breathed
In Adam in his innocence; thee now
To thy fair body, formed by Nature's hand,
We will conduct, and on thy face shall beam
A smile expressive of its heavenly guest!
In beauty shall thy body rise, like that
Which one day shall the eternal Spirit form
From his adored Christ, most beautiful
Of all on earth, of all of Adam's sons
The fairest; yet in dust that form, so fair,
Must perish! But thy Salem, midst the dead,
Shall seek thee, and thy name shall glorify
When thou awakest; when incorruptible,
Crowned in new beauty, through careering clouds,
His hand shall guide thee to a blest embrace
From thy loved Saviour, judge of all the earth!'
Such was the strain sung by the heavenly choir.
So Salem, and with silent tenderness
The seraphs o'er the loved disciple stood.
So stand three brothers o'er a sister fair,
In fondness gazing; on soft bedded flowers
She sleeps in angel beauty, ignorant
Of her blest father's hour of death; while they,
Won by her silent loveliness, delay
To break her golden slumbers.
SERVANT of God! well done;
Rest from thy lov'd employ;
The battle fought, the victory won,
Enter thy master's joy.'
The voice at midnight came;
He started up to hear,
A mortal arrow pierc'd his fine;
He fell, but felt no fear
Tranquil amidst alarms,
It found him in the field,
A veteran slumbering on his arm:3,
Beneath his red-cross shield;
His sword was in his hand,
Still warm with recent fight;
Ready that moment, at command,
Through rock and steel to smite.
It was a two-edged blade,
Of heavenly temper keen;
And double were the wounds it made,
Where'er it smote between :
"Twas death to sin; 'twas life
To all that mourn'd for sin;
It kindled, and it silenced, strife,
Made
war, and peace, within.
Oft with its fiery force,
His arm had quell'd the foe,
And laid, resistless in his course,
The alien armies low.
Bent on such glorious toils,
The world to him was loss;
Yet all his trophies, all his spois,
He hung upon the cross.
At midnight came the cry,
To meet thy God prepare i'
He woke, and caught his Captain's eye;
Then, strong in faith and prayer,
His spirit with a bound,
Burst its encumbering clay:
His tent, at sun-rise, on the ground,
A darken'd ruin lay.
The pains of death are past,
Labour and sorrow cease,
And, life's long warfare closed at 1981.
His soul is found in peace.
Soldier of Christ! well done;
Praise be thy new employ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest in thy Saviour's joy.
SAVIOUR! when in dust to thee,
Low we bow th' adoring knee,
When repentant to the skies
Scarce we lift our streaming eyes,--
O, by all thy pains and woe,
Suffer'd once for man below,
Bending from thy throne on high,
Hear our solemn litany.
By thy helpless infant years,
By thy life of wants and tears,
By thy days of sore distress
In the savage wilderness,-
By the dread permitted hour,
Of th' insulting tempter's pow'-•
Turn, O turn a pitying eye,
Hear our solemn litany!
By the sacred griefs that wept,
O'er the grave where Lazarus siept,-
By the boding tears that flow'd
Over Salem's lov'd abode,-
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