On the Death of Prudence Box, January 9, 1778, Aged Thirty-Eight

He's come to set the prisoner free,
The dear Redeemer 's come
To give the final victory,
And take His servant home;
To wipe the sorrow from her eyes,
To end her mourning days.
And show her soul the glorious prize
In His unclouded face.

Long in the toils of death she lay,
Nor fear'd the ghastly king.
When Christ had borne her sins away,
And spoil'd him of his sting;
Yet still she drank the bitter cup
Of grief and pain extreme,
And filFd her Lord's afflictions up.
And tasted death with Him.

Seeing the great Invisible,
Her Saviour and her Friend,
She sufifer'd all His righteous will
And suffer'd to the end:
Through a long vale of misery
She walk'd with Christ her Guide,
And, bleeding on the hallow'd tree,
Confess'd the Crucified.

With all the Spirit's powers she pray'd.
With infinite desire,
To bow her weary, fainting head.
And suddenly expire:
The agonising prayer was heard
For everlasting peace;
Yet still her faithful Lord deferred
To sign her soul's release.

He holds her still in life detained,
Her ripen'd grace to prove,
Her steadfast hope, and faidi unfeign d
And all-victorious love;
To emulate His sacrifice.
Obtain a richer crown
And point us to the opening skies„
And pray the Saviour down.

"Unutterable things I see I
That purchase of TTiy blood.
That place Thou hast prepared for me?
Come, O my God,, my God
I dare not murmur at Thy stay;
But to depart is best:
Come, O my Saviour, come away.
And take me into rest.'
"Now, Lord, into Thy hands receive,
That Thee my soul may bless,
Entirely love her God, and live
To Thine eternal praise."
She speaks, — and hears the answering word,