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REV. L. D. GIBBS. |
43 |
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0, let them rest! yet memory loves to turn
The page of other years; Affection traces there fond " thoughts that burn,"
And showers them o'er with tears!
That sainted one—methinks I see him now,
That messenger of peace, Who walk'd by faith these stormy waves of woe,
Bidding their tumults cease.
How often have we met in days gone by,
In joy and sorrow too! Met in the sunshine of a prosperous sky,
And 'neath the clouds of woe!
In health and sickness his consoling words Have often cheer'd this heart,
And at the loved one's couch of pain were heard, Bidding each doubt depart.
And, 0! when death, unpitying death, had claim'd Our brightest and our best, .
'Twas then, 'twas then that consolation came,— With him a welcome guest.
Once, and again, as we approach'd the grave.
Bearing the loved away, He pointed calmly over Jordan's wave
To an eternal day. |
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