On the Death of a Minister, cut off in his Vigour

Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,
In full activity of zeal and power;
A Christian cannot die before his time,
The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour.

Go to the grave; at noon from labour cease;
Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest-task is done;
Come from the heart of battle, and in peace,
Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.

Go to the grave; though like a fallen tree,
At once with verdure, flowers, and fruitage crown'd;
Thy form may perish, and thine honours be
Lost in the mouldering bosom of the ground;--

Go to the grave, which, faithful to its trust,
The germ of immortality shall keep;
While safe, as watch'd by cherubim, thy dust
Shall, till the Judgment-day, in Jesus sleep.

Go to the grave, for there thy Saviour lay
In Death's embraces, ere He rose on high;
And all the ransom'd, by that narrow way,
Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.

Go to the grave;--no, take thy seat above;
Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord,
Where thou, for faith and hope, hast perfect love,
And open vision for the written Word.