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the christian's death.
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But now a bright
And glorious vision bursts upon his eye.
Meekly prepared to meet his Master's will,
Whate'er that will may be, his eye upraised
With filial confidence in God's decrees,
He whispers to those dear ones with a voice,
Attuned with heaven's own tones, to heavenly strains.

"Weep not! though for a time, the grave may hide
My mouldering form from your embrace, my soul
In everlasting realms shall dwell; mine eye,
Undimmed by all that now obstructs its sight,
Shall view you, as you struggle on with life,
With all its varied griefs and empty cares,
And when its pangs are o'er, shall welcome you
To an immortal home."

Life is extinct.
Hear ye no strains of heavenly melody?
See ye no seraph wings of hovering forms,
With golden harps attuned to blissful strains,
To welcome the redeemed one to his home?