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    On the death of William M. Smith.POUS 142.4

    Dark is the hour when Death prevails,
    And triumphs o’er the just—
    A painful void within the breast,
    When dust goes back to dust;
    And solemn is the pall, the bier,
    That bears them from our presence here.
    POUS 142.5

    But there’s a bright, a glorious hope,
    That scatters death’s dark gloom;
    It cheers the saddened spirits up,
    It gilds the Christian’s tomb;
    It brings the resurrection near,
    When those we love shall re-appear.
    POUS 143.1

    Then mourn we not as those whose hopes
    With fleeting life depart;
    For we have heard a voice from Heaven,
    To every stricken heart:
    Blest are the dead, forever blest,
    Who from henceforth in Jesus rest.
    POUS 143.2

    With kind regard the Lord beholds
    His saints when called to die;
    And precious in his holy sight
    Their sacred dust shall lie,
    Till all these storms of life are o’er,
    And they shall rise to die no more.
    POUS 143.3

    A few more days and we shall meet
    The loved, whose toil is o’er,
    And plant with joy our bounding feet
    On Canaan’s radiant shore;
    Where, free from all earth’s cares and fears,
    We’ll part no more through endless years.
    POUS 143.4

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