ON THE GRAVE OF THE REV. THOS. JONES, IN
THE CHAPEL - COURT, CAERMARTHEN .
The snow upon his grave was white,
The moon above his tomb shone bright,
And nought was seen
But the evergreen
That pointed out the solemn scene .
I stood beside the sacred sod
Which hid all mortal of the man of God,
And thought of the day
When this sleeping clay
Would rise, and upwards wing its way.
Far from the toiling saints below,
Far from all sickness, pain , and woe,
Singing his praise
In endless lays,
Who brought him through this world's wild maze.
Adieu ! thou silent slumbering clay
Until we meet in that dread day,
When o'er this ground
A voice shall sound
Give up your dead, ye graves around .
O may we meet among the blest,
At God's right hand, and with the rest
Join in the song,
Amid the throng ,
Worthy the Lamb, his praise prolong !
There is beyond yon starry sky,
A region of supreme delight;
It is not seen by mortal eye
' Tis endless day without a night.
Ah ! could I soar on eagles' wings
Above the world's fast fading joys ;
I'd muse upon those heavenly things,
And join the angels' hymn of praise.
I blamemy friend, Alas ! I am not free
From that ambition I would blame in thee ;
My panting heart has often wished for fame,
And thought no task too hard to win a name :
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