on the death of the rev. dr. kirkland.
209
Of Love Divine,—viewing each thorn that mars
Your pathway as a flower to make more bright
The amaranth wreath which crowns the sons of God.
None are so near the golden gate of heaven
As those whose spirits have been rendered pure
By sanctified afflictions. So pass on,
Till ye awake from earth's short, feverish dream,
To share the blissful day which knows no night.'
Your pathway as a flower to make more bright
The amaranth wreath which crowns the sons of God.
None are so near the golden gate of heaven
As those whose spirits have been rendered pure
By sanctified afflictions. So pass on,
Till ye awake from earth's short, feverish dream,
To share the blissful day which knows no night.'
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. DR. KIRKLAND.
A dirge-note and the sigh of grief are borne upon the air;
Yet blended with faith's lofty notes and with the breath of prayer.
The good man to the earth hath bowed his loved and honored head,
While to its full, eternal joy the immortal mind hath fled.
Yet blended with faith's lofty notes and with the breath of prayer.
The good man to the earth hath bowed his loved and honored head,
While to its full, eternal joy the immortal mind hath fled.
How oft in unbowed strength, his step that sacred path has trod,
Bearing unto expectant souls good tidings from their God!
And now death's dim and shadowy veil has fallen on his brow,
And we in silent reverence here above his ashes bow.
Bearing unto expectant souls good tidings from their God!
And now death's dim and shadowy veil has fallen on his brow,
And we in silent reverence here above his ashes bow.
