Shrink not, O Human Spirit, The Everlasting Arm is strong to save! Look up, look up, frail nature, put thy trust In Him who went down mourning to the dust, And overcame the grave! Quickly goes down the sun; Life’s work is almost done; Fruitless endeavour, hope deferred, and strife! One little struggle more, One pang, and then is o’er All the long, mournful, weariness of life. Kind friends, ’tis almost past; Come now and look your last! Sweet children, gather near, And his last blessing hear, See how he loved you who departeth now! And, with thy trembling step and pallid brow, O, most beloved one, Whose breast he leaned upon, Come, faithful unto death, Receive his parting breath! The fluttering spirit panteth to be free, Hold him not back who speeds to victory! —The bonds are riven, the struggling soul is free! Hail, hail, enfranchised Spirit! Thou that the wine-press of the field hast trod! On, blest Immortal, on, through boundless space, And stand with thy Redeemer face to face; And stand before thy God! Life’s weary work is o’er, Thou art of earth no more; No more art trammelled by the oppressive clay, But tread’st with winged ease The high acclivities Of truths sublime, up Heaven’s crystalline way. Here no bootless quest; This city’s name is Rest; Here shall no fear appal; Here love is all in all; Here shalt thou win thy ardent soul’s desire; Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire. Lift, lift thy wond’ring eyes! Yonder is Paradise, And this fair shining band Are spirits of thy land! And these who throng to meet thee are thy kin, Who have awaited thee, redeemed from sin! —The city’s gates unfold—enter, oh! enter in! THE SICKNESS AND HEALTH OF THE PEOPLE OF BLEABURN. IN THREE PARTS.—CHAPTER III. Mr. Finch was standing in front of his bookcase, deeply occupied in ascertaining a point in ecclesiastical history, when he was told that Ann Warrender wished to speak to him.