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