568. C. M. Barbauld.
The Mourner's Thoughts of Heaven.
1Not for the pious dead we weep;
Their sorrows now are o'er;
The sea is calm, the tempest past,
On that eternal shore.
2O, might some dream of visioned bliss,
Some trance of rapture, show
Where, on the bosom of their God,
They rest from human woe!
3Thence may their pure devotion's flame
On us, on us descend;
To us their strong aspiring hopes,
Their faith, their fervors lend.
4Let these our shadowy path illume,
And teach the chastened mind
To welcome all that's left of good,
To all that's lost resigned.