402 



HYMN. 



Thou shalt sleep with thy fathers. — 2 Samuel vii. 12. 



As o'er the closing urn we bend 



Of each beloved and honour'd friend, 



What tears of anguish roll ! 

 In vain in death's unconscious face 

 The living smile we seek to trace 



That spoke from soul to soul. 



But shall not memory still supply 

 The kindly glance, the beaming eye, 



That oft our converse blest ; 

 That brighten'd many a prospect drear, 

 Revived our virtue, soothed our care, 



And lull'd each pain to rest ? 



And when these frail remains are gone, 

 Our hearts the impression still shall own, 



Our mortal path to cheer : 

 O God ! to point the way to heaven 

 These angel-guides by thee were given ; 



How blest to meet them there ! 



Had the strength of Sir James Smith's bodily 

 frame been commensurate with the powers of his 

 mind, his friends might have anticipated length of 

 days as his portion : but his health, which had never 

 been unbroken, visiblv declined for the last five or 

 six years, and on the 17th of March 1828, after 

 the illness of a single day, it pleased God to remove 

 him from the world. 



The quality which rendered the social character 

 of the revered subject of these pages so engaging, 

 arose not less from the benevolence of his heart 

 than from the stores of his understanding. He shed 



