415. In solitude he lov'd to roam; 'Twas his the mountain's height to climb, Rash and adventurous he stood, 416. Sorrows of various kinds overwhelmed me; but, instead of calling upon God in the day of trouble, I thoughtlessly and impatiently rushed into the presence of the Most High, and stand convicted of self-destruction. 417. Where thou art mouldering in the silent tomb Asks not, demands not, but compels a tear. 418. A noble work I had in view, To preach Christ crucified. On Afric's shore 'twas mine to roam, My faith and love were often tried, Denied the fellowship of saints, My labours prosper'd in my hand, The Saviour's precepts mild. In sweet simplicity of mind They breath'd the prayer sincere, And often did my spirit find A God of love was near. My work was done; the word was given I died; and found myself in heaven 419. Shed not thy pitying tear over him, though he was denied the gift of understanding: reserve it, rather, for those who abuse that reason which God has so mercifully bestowed upon them. 420. If age be measur'd by the glass of Time, His sands were run ere he had reach'd his prime; And, though renown'd for knowledge, wisdom, truth, And piety, and love, he died in youth. But if by deeds, not days, we rank his years, 421. She felt a tender concern for the souls of her family, and was anxious to bring up her children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. 422. Why reason was denied to fill : Perchance the kind intent was this :- 423. He died reposing in the merits of his Saviour, and exchanged, as we believe, earthly trouble for that peace of God which passeth all understanding. 424. The victory's won, and thou art gone 425. With friends and fortune bless'd, she felt awhile The world's regard, the sunshine of its smile; Then sank, alas! oppress'd by penury's smart, A wounded spirit, and a broken heart. When sad reverses came, her mind was prone And bent beneath what once she might have borne, 426. Though here I moulder dark and deep, The gloomy grave has only power 427. The good man's grave, where flowerets bloom, Is sacred as a conqueror's tomb, And dearer far than marble stones The slab that guards his honour'd bones. We call to mind his faith and trust, And pour no sorrows o'er his dust; 428. Wearied with earthly sorrow, and sighing for heavenly repose, she gladly committed her spirit into the hands of her Redeemer, and entered into that rest which remaineth for the people of God. |