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We miss thy small step on the stair,
Snows muffled earth when thou did'st go,
In life's spring-bloom,
The filent tomb.
tree, The cuckoo, and “the busy bee,” Return—but with them bring not thee,
'Tis so; but can it be — (while flowers
Revive again) --
For aye remain ?
It cannot be; for were it so,
Thus man could die,
And truth a lie ;
· Yes, 'tis sweet balm to our despair,
Fond, faireft boy ;
With Him in joy :
Farewell, then, for a while, farewell,
Pride of my heart;
Thus torn apart :
JIVE me the Priest these graces shall
A Fisher's patience, and a Labourer's toil;
HOLINESS on the head ;
Light and perfections on the breaft; Harmonious bells below, raising the
dead, To lead them unto life and rest;
Thus are true Aarons drest.
Profaneness in my
Poor Priest ! thus am I drest.
Only another Head
In Him I am well drest.
Christ is my only Head;
And be in Him new drest.
So, holy in my head ;
HUS to relieve the wretched was his
pride, And e’en his failings lean’d to virtue's
But in his duty prompt, at every call He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all : And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. At Church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
EEK and lowly, pure and holy,
Chief amongst the blessed three, Turning sadness into gladness,
Heaven-born art thou, Charity!
Kindness reigneth o'er thy heart,
Judgment hath in thee no part.
Though deceived believing still,
To thy Heavenly Father's will.
Never weary of well doing,
Never fearful of the end,
Thou dost all alike befriend.