Death of a Minister.
1 On Zion's holy walls
Is quenched a beacon-light,
In vain the watchman calls--
"Sentry! what of the night?"
No answering voice is here,
Say--does the soldier sleep?
O yes--upon the bier,
His watch no more to keep.
2 Still is that heaven-touched tongue,
Pulseless the throbbing breast;
That voice with music strung,
Forever put to rest.
To rest? A living thought,
Undimmed, unquenched, he soars
An essence, spirit-wrought,
Of yon immortal shores.
3 Peace to thee, man of God!
Thine earthly toils are o'er,
The thorny path is trod,
The Shepherd trod before,--
Full well he kept his word--
"I'm with thee to the end;
Fear not! I am the Lord,
Thy never-failing friend!"
4 We weave no dirge for thee,
It should not call a tear
To know that thou art free;
Thy home--it was not here!
Joy to thee, man of God!
Thy heaven-course is begun,
Unshrinking, thou has trod
Death's vale,--thy race is run.