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THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
Oh, it is sweet to think
Of those that are departed, While murmured Aves sink
To silence tender-hearted, While tears that have no pain
Are tranquilly distilling, And the dead live again
In hearts that love is filling. |
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Yet not as in the days
Of earthly ties we love them; For they are touched with rays
From light that is above them: Another sweetness shines
Around their well-known features; God with His glory signs
His dearly ransomed creatures.
Yes, they are more our own,
Since now they are God's only; And each one that has gone
Has left our heart less lonely. He mourns not seasons fled,
Who now in Him possesses Treasures of many dead
In their dear Lord's caresses. |
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