On the Death of Mrs. Hannah Butts, Part 1

I Happy, pure, impassive soul!
Ended are thy mournful days;
She hath reach'd the heavenly goal,
She hath won the glorious race;
Scaped out of the stormy deep,
Angels welcome her to shore:
For ourselves, alas, we weep, —
Not for her, who weeps no more.
Early from our vale of tears
Snatch'd by her Redeemer's love.
Ripe for God, she now appears
With the spotless church above;
Mix'd with that triumphant choir,
Still the pitying saint looks down,
Bids us after her aspire.
Win the fight, and claim the crown.
In the morning of her day,
Call'd to seek a hidden God,
Cheerful she pursued her way.

In the paths of duty trod,
(Guided by parental hands.

Stranger then to Christ her peace,)
Ran the way of His commands,
FoUow'd after righteousness.
One of those distinguish'd few
From their childhood sanctified,
Wash'd by Christ, she never knew
When the blood was first applied;
Favour'd of the Lord, and bless'd.

Nothing could His handmaid say,
Only by her life confess'd
He had borne her sins away.
Silent follower of the Lamb,
Him in deed and truth she loved.
Prized the odour of His name.
Never from His statutes roved.
Track'd the footsteps of His flock,
With His poor disciples stay'd,
Follow'd by their Guardian-Rock,
Safe in His ahiiighty shade.

Humble, like her Lord, and meek.

Did she not herself abase?
Swift to hear, and slow to speak,
Still she chose the lowest place,
Glad to be accounted least;

Each she to herself preferr'd.
Far beyond her fellows bless'd.
Always bless'd who always fear'd.