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54 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
When beside the altar kneeling,
At the sacred hour of prayer; When a light from heaven is stealing,
Shedding its effulgence there : Sweet, indeed, at such an hour,
When upon the berodad knee Comes this thought, with thrilling power,
There is one who prays for me !
MRS. REV. E. PEASE.
How peaceful was her death-bed scene— How calm she yielded up her breath!
With what a quiet air serene
She turn'd away, and slept in death !
Mark'd ye the joy that lit her eye When near the portal of the tomb ?
Caught ye the holy ecstasy
That swell'd her heart amid the gloom ?
Heard ye her deep, impassion'd tone, Which bade thee list a music strain,
When bright-wing'd angels from the throne Were thronging round her bed of pain ?
She died—if we may call it death
To enter on eternal life— To yield this short, this fleeting breath.
And pass beyond earth's weary strife. |
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