"I've come from far, my children sweet, Though flowers I have but few;
Yet this lone coronal 's replete
With lessons meet for you.
As evergreen let virtue be,
And fragrant as the rose,
So will its influence win to ye,
As round its perfume goes.
As amaranth no treacherous frost
Your love's bright hue should blast ;
Deserted, and to tempests tossed,
Its fervency should last.
Let violets your modesty
With velvet lips proclaim,
-The myrtle's innocence defy
For you a purer name.
So said - she placed the coronal
On Laura's placid brow;
Though a faint index of her heart,
Warm with religion's glow.
At the funeral of the Rev. B. B. WISNER, D. D., one of the Secretaries of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, and formerly Pastor of the Old South Church; who died in Boston, February 9, 1835, in the forty-first year of his age.
WEEP, Zion, weep! and lave your hearts in grief,
And gather ye in humbleness to mourn ;
But not for him whose noble spirit 's flown
Upon the breath that gave it birth, and that
Recalled it to its great original.
Ye church of Christ! be sad and sorrowful;
A faithful watchman 's fallen at his post-
A mighty herald-man of God has ceased
From 'mong the living: WISNER, too, is dead!
Behold the cypress mantle that he wrought
Just now for thee to wear for martyred worth*
In foreign clime, and gather to thyself
Its sacred folds, and sit in mourning dumb,
And open not thy mouth, for God hath done it.†
The lips that sent Lyman and Munson forth,
And gave the parting charge, Be faithful e'en
To death,' and which have spoke their eulogy,
And plead so oft, Thy kingdom come, O God,'
Are sealed in marmorean stiffness. And
Those eyes which turned with eloquent desire
To Heaven for a lost world, have ceased to beam.
That hand that was so diligent to lead
The lambs of a wont flock so gently forth
* Lyman and Munson, missionaries, who were murdered by the natives in the interior of the island of Sumatra.
The discourse at the funeral was founded on Psalms, xxxix, 9,—' I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because thou didst it.' This text was selected by Mrs. Wisner.
For Christ to bless them, and which put the seal
Of covenant on their brow, its censer has
Laid by, nor more shall offer unto God
The incense of the pious parent's heart
At the baptismal font, nor shall it more
Break at the altar emblematic bread,
Nor pour the sacramental wine, to feast
With love the fold of Christ. Ah, Christian, too,
That heart that beat so fervently for truth,
Has laid its last pulsation down upon
The altar of your sacrifice.
Behold the corse, and weep! ye that have heard
The messages of God from those same lips
So heedlessly. And while ye gather round
These relics, cast a glance prospective down
The stream of time that hurries on, and haste
Your preparation for the bar of God;
Lest in that hour when all the issues of
This probatory sphere are tried in Heaven,
That voice, now silent in the embrace of death,
Shall from its glorious body break upon
Your ear, in withering attestations to
Your recklessness, and ye be lost forever!
Come, look into the tomo.
"Tis nature's treasury of sacred dust.
This is the sepulchre where Eckley lies.*
And Huntington and his bright spouse
Laid down their ashes here, in this same vault.
And now, while we commit to earth remains
Of one so kindred in his life, rejoice!
For lo, there is a glorious day at hand,
When they, together, at the trump of God,
Shall, wing to wing, mount up to Heaven, and from
*The tomb belonging to the Old South Society, in the Granary Burying-ground, Tremont Street, Boston.
The multitudes around the great white throne,
Gather unto themselves a throng, who 'll shine
As stars in the broad firmament above,
And gems in their eternal diadems.
Rejoice for thou - whoe'er thou art- - e'en thou
Whose eye beholds these last sad offices,
May shine among that throng, if only thou
Wilt listen to the voice that echoes round
This sepulchre, 'Be ye also ready,'
And wilt obey this message of the dead.
Grave it upon the heart, O Lord, and seal
It with the eternal signet of thy grace!
"Changed into the same image from glory to glory."— HOLY Writ.
Mount up with pinioned flight, to catch a glimpse
Of the unblemished spirit-world to which
"Tis destined! How the pulses quicken, and
The bosom sprightlier beats, as fade away
The separating clouds of earth before
The Sun of Righteousness, a vision free
And full presenting of the Lamb of God,
Whose mein is winning in its lineaments
To the unsated spirit! Sweetly chimes
The vibrant swell of love that fills
All Heaven with joy, and melts away
The soul into the image of its God!
Too short are hours and days for bliss like this!
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