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178 The Book of Praise.
That finds not here an end : Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying, none were blest.
Beyond the flight of time,
Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blessed clime3
Where life is not a breath, Nor life s affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upwards to expire.
There is a world above, Where parting is unknown ;
A whole eternity of love, Form'd for the good alone :
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that happier sphere.
Thus star bv star declines
Till all are pass'd away, As morning high and higher shines
To pure and perfect day ; Nor sink those stars in empty night; They hide themselves in heaven's own light,
James Montgo?nery. 1824.
Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace ; Rise from transitory things
Towards Heaven, thy native place. Sun and moon and stars decay ; Time shall soon this earth remove; Rise, my soul, and haste away
To seats prepared above.