ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?'

"A few days previously to this event, after something consolatory had been ministered by an endeared female friend, he said, 'My faith and hope are, as they have long been, on the mercy of GOD, through Jesus Christ, who was the propitiation for my sins, and not for mine only, but for the sins of the whole world.'

66

During his illness he was exceedingly placid, and kind to every body; his countenance and conduct indicating that all within was peace. No alarm, no regret, at leaving a world in which no one perhaps had more of its real blessings to relinquish -the love, the veneration of all around him; but, on the contrary, a willingness to yield up his spirit to him who gave it, and had sanctified it by the blood of the Redeemer."

VERSES

TO THE MEMORY OF

THE LATE RICHARD REYNOLDS.

I.

THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS.

THIS place is holy ground;

World, with thy cares, away

!

Silence and darkness reign around,

But, lo! the break of day:

What bright and sudden dawn appears,

To shine upon this scene of tears?

'Tis not the morning light,

That wakes the lark to sing ; 'Tis not a meteor of the night,

Nor track of angel's wing:

It is an uncreated beam,

Like that which shone on Jacob's dream.

Eternity and Time

Met for a moment here;

From earth to heaven, a scale sublime

Rested on either sphere,

Whose steps a saintly figure trod,
By Death's cold hand led home to GOD.

He landed in our view,

'Midst flaming hosts above;

Whose ranks stood silent, while he drew

Nigh to the throne of love,

And meekly took the lowest seat,

Yet nearest his Redeemer's feet.

Thrill'd with ecstatic awe,
Entranced our spirits fell,

And saw-yet wist not what they saw And heard-no tongue can tell What sounds the ear of rapture caught, What glory fill'd the eye of thought.

Thus far above the pole,

On wings of mounting fire,

Faith may pursue the' enfranchised soul,
But soon her pinions tire;

It is not given to mortal man
Eternal mysteries to scan.

-Behold the bed of death;
This pale and lovely clay;

Heard ye the sob of parting breath?
Mark'd ye the eye's last ray?

No;-life so sweetly ceased to be,
It lapsed in immortality.

Could tears revive the dead,
Rivers should swell our eyes;
Could sighs recall the spirit fled,

We would not quench our sighs,

Till love relumed this alter'd mien,
And all the' embodied soul were seen.

Bury the dead; — and weep
In stillness o'er the loss;

Bury the dead;-in Christ they sleep,
Who bore on earth his cross,

And from the grave their dust shall rise,
In his own image to the skies.