A few weeks later,
on a Monday evening, in the New-Street Chapel, the Rev. Thomas
Nightingale, to a crowded audience, improved the event, not of her
death, but of her entrance into heaven, from the words, "And it
came to pass, as they still went on, and talked, that, behold, there
appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted them both
asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven."
"HER CHILDREN ARISE UP AND CALL HER BLESSED."--Prov. xxxi. 28.
Shall we weep or repine at the thought she is gone?
Shall we mourn for the spirit at rest?
No! her children, though many, united as one
Now arise to acknowledge her blest.
Not the tongue of the world, or the praises that dwelt
On the lips of report are the test;
In the home, where the warmth of her presence was felt,
Must you ask if a mother was blest.
We arise! we arise in the name of the Lord,
Who gave us the good we possess'd;
With one heart, and one voice, we unite to record
Our thanks for the mother He bless'd.
Not a joy but was sweeter when she was in sight,
Not a grief but we hid in her breast;
And she seemed unto us as an Angel of Light:
So happy the circle she blest.
We remember her counsels, oft mingled with tears;
The truths by example express'd;
An inheritance rich, is the wealth of her prayers:
Is the child or the mother more blest?
By the light in her eye, and the smile on her face;
By her "song in the night," when opprest!
By a thousand impressions we love to retrace:
We know that our mother was blest.
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