Pain, want, misfortune, thither shall repair; 1818. TO THE MEMORY OF ROWLAND HODGSON, ESQ., OF SHEFFIELD; Who departed this life January 27, 1837, aged 63 years. Through a long period of severe bodily affliction, aggravated in the sequel by loss of sight, he' signally exemplified the Christian graces of faith, hope, and charity, with humble resignation to the will of God. He had been from his youth one of the most active, liberal, and unwearied supporters of benevolent and evangelical institutions throughout this neighbourhood and elsewhere, in foreign lands as well as at home. The writer of these lines had the happiness to be his travelling companion on annual visits and temporary sojourns, which they made together in many parts of the kingdom, from the autumn of 1817 to the same season of 1836. PART I. Go where thy heart had gone before, And thy heart's treasure lay; Go, and with open'd eye explore Heaven's uncreated day: Light in the LORD, light's fountain, see, And light in Him for ever be. But darkness thou has left behind; No sign, no sight, nor sound, Then gaze I on thy vacant place, Till my soul's eye meets thy soul's face : As, many a time, quite through the veil When thy meek aspect, saintly pale, Nor less in days of earlier health, To me this truth was clear, That hope in Christ was thy best health, When frequent sickness bow'd thy head, Thy downward course to death, Faith falter'd not that hope to show, Though words, like life's last drops, fell slow. How often when I turn'd away, As having seen the last Of thee on earth, my heart would say, -"When my few days are past, Such strength be mine, though nature shrink, I saw thee slumbering in thy shroud, Now glimmering through a snow-white cloud, -I saw thee lower'd into the tomb, Like that cloud deepening into gloom. All darkness thou hast left behind; "Twas but thy mantle, dropt in sight, That mantle, in earth's wardrobe lain, When, freed from worms and dust, PART II. These fragments of departed years, Since thou,-in mercy to our tears For what, my friend, was death to thee? Was sent in chains to thy release, By Him who on the cross made peace. When year by year, on pilgrimage, And pitch'd and struck, from stage to stage, Our tents, had we one guide? One aim ?-are all our meetings past? Must our last parting be our last? Nay, God forbid !—if hand and heart, Our Father's house, not made with hands, Thus, as I knew thee well and long, What thou wert more, affection's song Thy works of faith and zeal of love, Are they not register'd below?. Though less than even the least of these, Thou wert a flower-awakening breeze, The breeze unseen its odours shed, What art thou now?-Methinks for thee New-landing spirits bring, As God on each his image seals, While ray by ray those thronging lines To one great centre tend, Fulness of grace and glory shines In CHRIST, their source and end, To show, where all perfections meet, The orb of Deity complete. PART III. So rest in peace, thou blessed soul! -Not thee, not thee, my friend! But Him, whom thou, through joy and wo, Faint yet pursuing, I am strong, Whene'er his steps I trace; Else, slow of heart, and prone to wrong, If on thy course I fix mine eye, And Him in thee not glorify. The wild, the mountain-top, the sea, The throng'd highway he trode, The path to quiet Bethany, And Calvary's dolorous road: "OCCUPY TILL I COME." ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE JOSEPH BUTTERWORTH, ESQ. AN EXEMPLARY CHRISTIAN, PATRIOT, AND PHILANTHROPIST. "He was a burning and a shining light:" |