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Early death. 1 Life is a span, a fleeting hour,

How soon the vapour flies! Man is a tender, transient flower,

That ev’n in blooming dies ! 2 The once lov'd form, now cold and dead,

Each mournful thought employs ; And nature weeps her comforts fled,

And wither'd all her joys.
3 But wait the interposing gloom,

And lo! stern winter flies!
And drest in beauty's fairest bloom,

The flowery tribes arise. 4 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time;

When what we now deplore,
Shall rise in full immortal prime,

And bloom to fade no more. 5 Then cease, fond nature, cease thy tears,

Religion points on high;
There everlasting spring appears,

And joys that cannot die.


Death of a young person. 1 When blooming youth is snatch'd away

By death's resistless hand,

Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,

Which sorrow must demand.
2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,

O may this truth, impress'd
With awful power, 1 too must die,

Sink deep in every breast !
3 Let this vain world delude no more ;

Behold the op'ning tomb
It bids us seize the present hour ;

To-morrow, death may come. 4 The voice of this alarming scene

· May every heart obey; Nor be the heavenly warning vain,

Which calls to watch and pray.


Reflections on the state of our fathers, 1 How swift the torrent rolls,

That bears us to the sea ! The tide that bears our thoughtless souls

To vast eternity! 2 Our fathers, where are they,

With all they call'd their own? Their joys and griefs, and hopes and cares,

And wealth and honour-gone. 3 There, where the fathers lie,

Must all the children dwell ;

Nor other heritage possess,

But such a gloomy cell.
4 God of our fathers ! hear,

Thou everlasting Friend!
While we, as on life's utmost verge,

Our souls to thee commend.

5 Of all the pious dead,

May we the footsteps trace,
Till with them, in the land of light,

We dwell before thy face.


On the death of a parent. 1 Though nature's voice you must obey,

Think, while your swelling griefs o'erflow,
That hand, which takes your joys away,

That sov’reign hand can heal your woe. 2 And while your mournful tho'ts deplore

The parent gone, remov’d the friend !
With heart resign'd, his grace adore,

On whom your nobler hopes depend. 3 Does he not bid his children come Through death's dark shades to realms of

light? Yet, when he calls them to their home, Shall fond survivors mourn their flight ?

4 His word-here let your soul rely

Immortal consolation gives;
Your heavenly Father cannot die,

Th' eternal Friend for ever lives.
5 O be that best of friends your trust,

On his almighty arm recline;
He, when your comforts sink in dust,
Can give you blessings more divine.


On the death of a child. 1 As the sweet flower which scents the morn,

But withers in the rising day,
Thus lovely seem’d the infant's dawn!

Thus swiftly fled its life away!
2 Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
Death timely came with friendly care;
The op’ning bud to heaven convey'd,

And bade it bloom for ever there. 3 It died before its infant soul

Had ever burn’d with wrong desire ;
Had ever spurn’d at Heaven's control,

Or ever quench'd its sacred fire. 4 It died to sin, it died to care;

But for a moment felt the rod,
Then, springing on the viewless air,
Spread its light wings, and soar'd to God.

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On the dangerous sickness of a minister. 1 0 Thou, before whose gracious throne We bow our suppliant spirits down! Thou know'st the anxious cares we feel, And all our trembling lips would tell. 2 Thou only canst assuage our grief,

And give our sorrowing hearts relief;
In mercy then thy servant spare,

Nor turn aside thy people's prayer. 3 Avert thy desolating stroke,

Nor smite the shepherd of the flock;
Restore him, sinking to the grave,

Stretch out thine arm, make haste to save. 4 Bound to each soul by tender ties,

In every heart his image lies ;
Thy pitying aid, O God! impart,

Nor rend him from each bleeding heart. 5 But if our supplications fail,

And prayers and tears cannot prevail, Be thou his strength, be thou his stay;

Support him through the gloomy way. 6 Around him may thine angels stand,

Waiting the signal of thy hand,
To bid his happy spirit rise,
And bear him to their native skies.

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