"O for an overcoming faith, To cheer my dying hours, To triumph o'er the monster Death, And all his frightful pow'rs! "Joyful, with all the strength I have, My quiv'ring lips shall sing, 'Where is thy boasted vict'ry, Grave? And where the monster's sting?' "If sin be pardon'd, I'm secure; Death hath no sting beside; The law gives sin its damning pow'r; But Christ, my ransom, died. "Now to the God of victory Immortal thanks be paid, Who makes us conqu'rors while we die, Through Christ, our living Head." The venerable rector met the procession on its entering the burial-ground, and walked before it up the pathway leading to the church, reading, as he walked, the thrilling words of inspiration: "I am the resurrection and the life." The corpse was taken into the middle aisle of the church, and placed on a raised platform; the concourse of people attending seated themselves in the different pews, and listened with devout seriousness to the appointed lessons and portions of the Scripture, which Mr. Ingleby read in very impressive tones. When he had finished, the corpse was carried forth to the place of sepulture; where, after the rest of the burial-service was performed, it was deposited till the morning of the resurrection. When Robert and his little boy looked down into the grave which had just received the remains of her they loved, they wept, and returned to their house of mourning, cast down, yet animated by a hope of a reunion in the celestial world. I stole away from the crowd, which was pressing round the grave to take the last look of the coffin, that I might indulge my reflections in solitude. Death was the theme of my meditation. Humiliating theme! How calculated to bring down the lofty spirit of pride, to extinguish the flame of ambition, to hush the contentions of discord!