Then cheer his lot with kindness,
E'en though he be depraved:
If, wakened from his blindness,
The worst one may be saved.
There Is No Death.
There is no death! The feeble body, slumbering,
Seems but to waste and fade away;
In future years that God is numbering
'Twill spring from slumber and decay.
And clothed with beauty everlasting,
With not a stain of earth to mar,
'Twill voice a music more entrancing
Than anthem of the morning star.