THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

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BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.

The silver cord was loosened,
We knew that she must die;
We read the mournful token
In the dimness of her eye.
Like a child oppressed with slumber,
She calmly sank to rest,
With her trust in her Redeemer,
And her head upon his breast.
She faded from our vision,
Like a thing of love and light;
But we feel she lives forever,
A spirit pure and bright.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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