4 Oh God, extend thy arms of love, A spirit seeketh thee above! Ye heav'nly palaces unclose, Receive the weary to repose! 579. C. M. L. H. Sigourney. Burial of a Friend. 1 As, bowed by sudden storms, the rose Sinks on the garden's breast, Down to the grave our brother goes, In silence there to rest. 2 No more with us his tuneful voice The hymn of praise shall swell; No more his cheerful heart rejoice When peals the Sabbath bell. 3 Yet, if, in yonder cloudless sphere Amid a sinless throng, He utters in his Saviour's ear The everlasting song,-- 4 No more we'll mourn the absent friend, But lift our earnest prayer, And daily every effort bend To rise and join him there. 580. C. M. Houghton. The Re-union of Friends after Death. 1 Blest be the hour when friends shall meet, Shall meet to part no more, And with celestial welcome greet, On an immortal shore. 2 Sweet hope, deep cherished, not in vain, Now art thou richly crowned! All that was dead revives again; All that was lost is found! 3 The parent eyes his long-lost child; Brothers on brothers gaze: The tear of resignation mild Is changed to joy and praise. 4 And while remembrance, lingering still, Draws joy from sorrowing hours; New prospects rise, new pleasures fill The soul's capacious powers. 5 Their Father fans their generous flame, And looks complacent down; The smile that owns their filial claim Is their immortal crown. 581. L. M. Anonymous. "Not lost, but gone before." 1 Say, why should friendship grieve for those Who safe arrive on Canaan's shore? Released from all their hurtful foes, They are not lost--but gone before. 2 How many painful days on earth Their fainting spirits numbered o'er! Now they enjoy a heavenly birth; They are not lost--but gone before. 3 Dear is the spot where Christians sleep, And sweet the strain which angels pour; O why should we in anguish weep? They are not lost--but gone before. 582. L. M. Epis. Coll. Death of an Infant. 1 As the sweet flower that scents the morn, But withers in the rising day, Thus lovely was this infant's dawn, Thus swiftly fled its life away. 2 It died ere its expanding soul Had ever burnt with wrong desires, Had ever spurned at Heaven's control, Or ever quenched its sacred fires. 3 Yet the sad hour that took the boy Perhaps has spared a heavier doom,-- Snatched him from scenes of guilty joy, Or from the pangs of ills to come. 4 He died to sin; he died to care; But for a moment felt the rod; Then, rising on the viewless air, Spread his light wings, and soared to God.