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Ned Farmer's Scrap Book.
93
The Reward.
Written on the death of a very dear and valued friend who died rich in the faith of "him" who alone can save.
The soul hath burst its prison bars,
And left its home of clay,
And journeys on, amid the stars,
To its glad home away;
Bright angels come in glorious throngs,
To speed it on its track,
Cheering the way with joyous songs;
Oh! who would wish it back?
Forgotten now the grief and woes
It may have suffered here;
On to its resting-place it goes,
Nor harbours doubt or fear;
Firm in the faith of God's dear Son,
(All competent to save)
The soul its blest reward hath gain'd;
The body's in the grave.
Our actions should be such only as our enemies would never allude to!
