[67] This song was composed in 1842, when the author had attained her seventy-sixth year. The four lays following, breathing the same devotional spirit, appear to have been written about the same period of the author's life. The present song is printed from the original MS. REST IS NOT HERE. What 's this vain world to me? Rest is not here; False are the smiles I see, The mirth I hear. Where is youth's joyful glee? Where all once dear to me? Gone, as the shadows flee-- Rest is not here. Why did the morning shine Blythely and fair? Why did those tints so fine Vanish in air? Does not the vision say, Faint, lingering heart, away, Why in this desert stay-- Dark land of care! Where souls angelic soar, Thither repair; Let this vain world no more Lull and ensnare. That heaven I love so well Still in my heart shall dwell; All things around me tell Rest is found there. HERE'S TO THEM THAT ARE GANE. AIR--_"Here 's a health to ane I lo'e weel."_ Here 's to them, to them that are gane; Here 's to them, to them that are gane; Here 's to them that were here, the faithful and dear, That will never be here again--no, never. But where are they now that are gane? Oh, where are the faithful and true? They 're gane to the light that fears not the night, An' their day of rejoicing shall end--no, never. Here 's to them, to them that were here; Here 's to them, to them that were here; Here 's a tear and a sigh to the bliss that 's gane by, But 'twas ne'er like what 's coming, to last--for ever. Oh, bright was their morning sun! Oh, bright was their morning sun! Yet, lang ere the gloaming, in clouds it gaed down; But the storm and the cloud are now past--for ever. Fareweel, fareweel! parting silence is sad; Oh, how sad the last parting tear! But that silence shall break, where no tear on the cheek Can bedim the bright vision again--no, never. Then, speed to the wings of old Time, That waft us where pilgrims would be; To the regions of rest, to the shores of the blest, Where the full tide of glory shall flow--for ever. FAREWEEL, O FAREWEEL! GAELIC AIR. Fareweel, O fareweel! My heart it is sair; Fareweel, O fareweel! I 'll see him nae mair. Lang, lang was he mine, Lang, lang--but nae mair; I mauna repine, But my heart it is sair. His staff 's at the wa', Toom, toom is his chair! His bannet, an' a'! An' I maun be here! But oh! he 's at rest, Why sud I complain? Gin my soul be blest, I 'll meet him again. Oh, to meet him again, Where hearts ne'er were sair! Oh, to meet him again, To part never mair! THE DEAD WHO HAVE DIED IN THE LORD.[68]