Oh! life below, how brief, how poor, how sad! One heavy sigh!

Oh! life above, how long, how fair, how glad!
An endless joy.

Oh! to have done for aye with dying here!
Oh! to begin the living in yon sphere!

Dark, dark indeed the grave would be,
Had we no light, O Lord, from Thee;
If all we saw were all we knew,
Or hope from reason only grew.

But fearless now we rest in faith:
A holy life makes happy death:
'Tis but a change ordain'd by Thee,
To set th' imprison'd spirit free.

Sad, sad indeed 'twould be to part
From those who long have shared our heart,
If Thou hadst left us still to fear

Love's only heritage was here.

But calmly now we see them go
From out this world of pain and woe:

We follow to a home on high,

Where pure affections never die.

There is a calm for those who weep;
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
And, while the mouldering ashes sleep,
Low in the ground,

The soul, of origin divine,

God's glorious image freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine,
A star of day.

The sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul, immortal as its Sire,

Shall never die!

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

Think of all those who erst have been
Living as thou art-even now;

Looking upon life's busy scene

With glance as careless, light, as thou.

All these, like thee, have lived and moved, Have seen what now thou look'st upon, Have fear'd, hoped, hated, mourn'd, or loved, And now from mortal sight are gone.

Yet, though unseen of human eye,
Their reliques slumber in the earth;
The boon of immortality

To them was given with vital birth.

They were, and having been, they are! Earth but contains their mouldering dust; Their deathless spirits, near or far,

With thine must rise to meet the just.

Thou know'st not but they hover near,
Witness of every secret deed,
Which, shunning human eye or ear,
The spirits of the dead may heed.

An awful thought it is to think,
The viewless dead outnumber all;
Who, bound by life's connecting link,
Now share with us this earthly ball.

It is a thought as dread and high,
And one to wake a fearful thrill,
To think, while all who live, must die,
The dead, the dead, are living still.

BERNARD BARTON.

C

The Sleep of the Faithful Departed.

MATT. xxvii. 52.

"And the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose."

JOHN xi, 11-14.

"Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go, that I may awake him out of sleep. Then said his disciples, Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well. Howbeit Jesus spake of his death but they thought that he had spoken of taking of rest in sleep. Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead."

ACTS vii. 60.

"And he kneeled down, and cried with a loud voice, Lord, lay not this sin to their charge. And, when he had said this, he fell asleep."

ACTS xiii, 36.

"For David, after he had served his own generation by the will of God, fell on sleep, and was laid unto his fathers, and saw corruption."

1 COR. XV. 51, 52.

Behold, I show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump, (for the trumpet shall sound;) and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed."