  “And the token that the angel gave her, that he was a true messenger, was an arrow, with a point sharpened with Love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, that at the time appointed she must be gone.” Pilgrim’s Progress. Rest thou in peace! Beneath the sheltering sod There is a lowly door, a narrow way, That leadeth to the Paradise of God; There, weary pilgrim, let thy wanderings stay. Rest thou in peace! We would not call thee back To know the grief that comes with riper years, To tread in sorrow all Life’s thorny track, And drain with us the bitter cup of tears. Rest thou in peace! With chastened hearts we bow, And pour for thee a low and solemn strain; Thy voice shall chant the hymns of Zion now, But it shall mingle not with ours again. Rest thou in peace! Not in the silent grave— Thy spirit heard the summons from above, And blessed the token that the angel gave— An arrow, sharpened—but with tenderest love. Rest thou in peace! With blessings on thy head, Pass to the land where sinless spirits dwell— Gone, but not lost!—We will not call thee dead— The angels claimed thee! Dear one—Fare-thee-well. |
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