XXII. THE PASTOR. JOE be to the priest, y-born, As to his office doth belong; Woe be to him that doth not keep, The Welsh Bard TALIESSYN.* XXIII. THE PASTOR. IGH thoughts at firft, and vifions high, The Word we bear feems fo divine, Of all his finning, fuffering race * From Ufher's Religion of the Ancient Irish, c. x. But foon a fadder mood comes round, Go weeping that men will not cease To ftrive with Heaven; they inly mourn, That fuffering men will not be bleft, That weary men refuse to rest, And wanderers to return. TRENCH. XXIV. THE PASTOR. O aid the fatherless, Comfort the fick, and be the poor man's friend, And in the wounded heart pour Gospel balm. SOUTHEY. XXV. THE DEPARTED. H! it is fweet to die-to part from earth, And win all heaven for things of little worth Then fure thou wouldst not, though The little flumberer for its mother's fake. EDMESTON. XXVI. THE DEPARTED. JORGIVE, bleft fhade, the tributary tear That mourns thy exit from a world like this; Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here, And stayed thy progrefs to the realms of blifs. No more confined by grovelling scenes of night, XXVII. THE DEPARTED. HAT hallows ground where heroes fleep? "Tis not the sculptured pile we heap; In dews that heavens far diftant weep, Their turf may bloom, Or genii twine beneath the deep Their coral tomb. But ftrew his afhes to the wind, Whose word or voice has ferved mankind. And is he dead whofe glorious mind, Lifts thine on high? To live in hearts we leave behind, XXVIII. THE DEPARTED. ERVANT of God, well done! The cry at midnight came, He started up to hear; A mortal arrow pierced his frame,— His spirit with a bound Left its encumbering clay; XXIX. THE DEPARTED. HEN let us be content to leave behind So much, which yet we leave not quite behind; For the bright memories of the holy dead, The bleffed ones departed, fhine on us Like the pure splendours of fome large ftar, TRENCH. |