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HE whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds had gone to play ;
HOULD not the exile, Lord, desire
His own sweet realm to see?
The prisoner to be free?
When we amid this stormy world,
Feel like the homeless dove,
To flee to Thee we love.
stand near to the pearly gates, May be close to the Ear of Heaven; But who would dwell in the servant's
lodge, When the Mansion-house is given ?
T matters little at what hour o’ the day
The righteous falls asleep; death cannot
To him untimely who is fit to die ;
TOW welcome those untrodden spheres !
How sweet this very hour to die !
Oh! in that future let us think
HEN eyes are beaming
What never tongue might tell,
From their crystal cell;
Of them that bid farewell!
When hope is chidden
That fain of bliss would tell,
In the breast to dwell ;
OT as the worldling bids farewell
While earthly wishes bound his view ;
Cling to the Uncreated Friend,
To Jesus, the supremely true;
HEN forced to part from those we love,
Though sure to meet to-morrow;
We feel a touch of sorrow.
Yet oh what words can paint the tears
We shed, when thus we sever,
To part, perhaps for ever ?
Yet if our views are fixed aright,
A sacred hope is given ;
We 'll meet again in Heaven.
Then let us form those bonds above,
Which time can ne'er dissever;
part, to meet for ever!