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 LIX. 
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 LXII. 
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LXXII. ON HER DEATH.
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LXXII. ON HER DEATH.

Lovely-fair, but breathless clay,
Whither is thy tenant gone?
Would the soul no longer stay
Prisoner in a world unknown?

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Surfeited with life and pain,
Is she fled to heaven again?
Wherefore did she visit earth,
Earth so suddenly to leave,
Gall'd and burden'd from the birth,
Only born to cry and grieve?
What was all her life below?
One sad month of fruitless woe.
Count we now our mournful gains,
We who call'd the child our own:
Lo, she pays her mother's pains
With her last expiring groan:
Mocking all his fond desires,
Lo, her father's hope expires!
Thus her parents' grief she cheers,
Transient as a short-lived flower,
Scarcely seen she disappears,
Blooms, and withers in an hour;
Thus our former loss supplies,
Thus our promised comfort dies!
But shall sinful man complain,
Stripp'd by the Divine decree?
Dares our impious grief arraign
Heaven's tremendous majesty?
Rather let us meekly own
All is right which God hath done.
God hath answer'd all our prayers,
Mended after His own will,
Number'd with salvation's heirs
Her whose happy change we feel,

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Her whose bliss rebukes our sighs,
Bids us follow to the skies.
God, to' enhance her joy above,
Gave her a few painful days,
Object of His richest love,
Vessel of His choicest grace,
Bade her suffer with His Son,
Die to claim an earlier throne.
Best for her so soon to die:
Best for us how can it be?
Let our bleeding hearts reply,
Torn from all, O Lord, but Thee,
To Thy righteous will subdued,
Panting for the sovereign Good.
Let them pant, and never rest
Till Thy peace our sorrows heal;
Troubled be our aching breast
Till the balm of love we feel,
Love which every want supplies,
Love of One that never dies.
Might we, Lord, Thy love attain!
Cure of every evil this,
This would turn our loss to gain,
Turn our misery into bliss,
Love our Eden here would prove,
Love would make our heaven above.