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 His care will guard and train it till the hour When thou shalt come, the blessed day arrived, With thine own eyes, long waiting, to behold The vision of the Lamb. Back to thine arms Then He the faithful Shepherd shall restore Thy child—still thine—the same o'er which did fall Thy bitter tears when lost to thee he seemed. The same, yet not the same! more beautiful Beyond compare, e'en as the hyacinth That perfect stands, unfolded every grace, Is lovelier than the bulb that held it once, And hid its purple hues. Ah! then thy joy The memory of thy grief at last shall drown; And with all ecstasies of thankful love And praise admiring, shall thy soul o'erflow.

He lies upon the bier, pale, silent, cold, Yet beauteous still. Disease hath stolen away But little from the face that late did seem Almost a seraph's. On the marble brow Chiselled so daintily, so calm, so pure,