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Of life beyond the grave; your last support,
His staff; his rod of chastisement, salvation!
No pang was yours; death came untold, undream’d,
At once, and ye are sleeping.—Shall we mourn?
Were not ye ripe for death?—Ah, ye have gained
A blessed lot! to sup in Paradise!
Not yours to see those whom ye loved on earth
Torn from your arms by withering decay;
To feel the bursting heart, when broke the tie
That bound you to the dead,—No, ye are not
in death divided,—brother died with sister,
Mother with son, and father with his daughter,
Together did your hearts aspire to Heav’n;
Together are your souls before your God!
Sleep peacefully; ye blessed martyrs, sleep;
And wake in blessedness. Your earthly garment,
Already, in your feast of love, thrown off,
When faith was pointing out the way to Heaven,
is dropt for ever. How was recompensed
That little moment of untold of horror,
When death appeared so dreadful!— sure you oped
Your eyes upon the eternal throne of God,
And saw your heavenly Saviour smile upon you,
And bid you welcome to his Father’s house!
Oh God! that it were mine, thus blest to die
Ripe for the sickle, with the friends I love,
Seal’d as thy servant at thy holy table,
Then snatch’d away to Heaven! Alfred.
