Lines on the Death of the Rev. S. K. Talmage

MOURN not, friends, mourn not, bereaved,That his earthly race is run;He hath reached the gates celestial,Over death the victory won.

Moulded in his Father's image,He the Saviour's footsteps trod;And God claimed his sainted spirit,Ere the body reached the sod.

Ah! ye would not then recall him,But a tenement of clay;Bless, oh! bless God, that his mercy,Called his loved one away.

Meek and lowly, pure in spirit—Humble as a little child—Mighty in his love of Jesus—He is with the undefiled.

Ever ready with his counsel,And his prayers to guide the young;Choirs of redeemed sinners,When he died, the requiem sung.

Mourn not, friends, mourn not, bereaved,That his earthly race is run;He hath reached the goal eternal,Over death the victory won.