On the Death of Lady Hotham, June 30, 1756, Part 5

O Wondrous power of Jesu's grace,
Who sends an angel from His face
With ministerial aid!
By faith in brightest glory seen,
She pours the balm of comfort in.
And heals the wound she made.

The blessed spirit enthroned above
(Whom far beyond ourselves we love,
Soon as her bhss appears)
Scatters the gloom of nature's grief,
Brings irresistible relief.
And dries our selfish tears.

Her bliss no pause nor period knows,
Her bliss our ravish'd heart o'erflows;
The heavenly drop we feel
Is more than thousand worlds can give
Who then shall all her joy conceive.
Or all her raptures tell?

So wholly form'd for social love,
Her union with the spirits above
What angel can declare?
Her joy, amidst the virgin-choir.
To mark a saint in white attire,
To clasp a sister there!

With her to range the' eternal plains;
To catch the harpers' sweetest strains,
And match them with her own;
Pursue the living water's course,
Or trace the river to its source,
And drink it at the throne.

There, there the ecstasy is full,
While, wide expanding all her soul.
The Godhead she receives,
Enjoys the' unutterable grace,
Beholds without a veil His face,
Beholds His face and lives.

For this on earth she could not rest,
(With every other blessing bless'd,)
Or in His gifts delight;
Not holiness itself could sate
The spirit constrain'd in bliss to wait,
W ithout that blissful sight.

But, gaining now whom she requires.
She all her infinite desires
Lets loose on Him alone;
She plunges in the crystal sea,
Lost in the depths of Deity,
With God for ever one!
ON THE DEATH OF DR. MIDDLETON,