ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF MRS. MARY PEACOCK.
An Elegiac Song, sent in a Letter of Condolence to Mr. N. P. Merchant, at Amsterdam.
I
Hark! She bids all her friends adieu;
Some angel calls her to the spheres;
Our eyes the radiant saint pursue
Thro' liquid telescopes of tears.
II
Farewell, bright soul, a short farewell,
Till we shall meet again above
In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell,
And trees of life bear fruits of love:
III
There glory sits on every face,
There friendship smiles in every eye,
There shall our tongues relate the grace
That led us homeward to the sky.
IV
O'er all the names of Christ our King
Shall our harmonious voices rove,
Our harps shall sound from ev'ry string
The wonders of his bleeding love.
V
Come, sov'reign Lord, dear Saviour, come,
Remove these separating days,
Send thy bright wheels to fetch us home;
That golden hour, how long it stays!
VI
How long must we lie ling'ring here,
While saints around us take their flight?
Smiling, they quit this dusky sphere,
And mount the hills of heav'nly light.
VII
Sweet soul, we leave thee to thy rest,
Enjoy thy Jesus and thy God,
Till we, from bands of clay releast,
Spring out and climb the shining road.
VIII
While the dear dust she leaves behind
Sleeps in thy bosom, sacred tomb!
Soft be her bed, her slumbers kind,
And all her dreams of joy to come.
