The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1884-09-27
IN MEMORIAM.
Written for the Months Mind of Very
Reverend Dean Terry, Sept "a, 1884,

Written for the Months Mind of Very
Reverend Dean Terry, Sept pa, 1884.
There are solemn sounds on the Autumn air,
September breeZes in sorrow sing,
The tolling bell and the fearful prayer,
And the gentle flight of an angels wing.
It's mournful mind of month ago,
An echo sad of a doeful day,
OF a sudden pang and crushing blow,
And peerless spirit that passed away.
There are memories too Of the days of old
When he stood in our midst in manhood's
prime,
When he poured out words from heart Of
gold,
And lifted our souls to the heights sublime.
All! the touching tones of that funeral bell
Have awakened the echoes of vanished years,
And the grateful pulses arise and swell
Till they lind voice in our prayers and tears.
There's face that's hid from our longing
gaze,
There's voice that no more shall greet our
ear,
There are eyes which beamed with affections
rays,
But never again shall they smile on us here.
There's a hand that we fain with our own
ION! how often It blessed us in days of yorey
Death is holding it now in his icy grasp,
1t well bless US on earth no more, no more.
There are lips that are mute from which ac-
cents came,
To soothe our sorrows, our souls to heal.
There's lowly grave, and moulding frame,
A warm, tender heart with its pulses still.
There is love that we miss as the days 90 by.
Each sorrowing heart the anguish knows;
There's silent tear, and a yearning SIGH
AS we breathe prayer for his souls repose.
Far, far and wide, cen across the foam,
His kindred weep for their first and best;
There are mourners in many Il humble home
That his love like heavenly sunbeam blcst.
Lift up the heart there's conflict DER,
There is rest from sorrow, from care and pain !;
There is rest for one who shall toll no more,
There's heart that shall never be wounded
again.
He hath labored well, and hath won the prize,
He hath labored long, it is time for rest
Lift up the heart and fearful eyes,
And behold the light of a region blest.
There's glorious crown, and vctors palm,
An apostles throne for the stainless priest
There's voice that's singing the angels
psalm,
An abiding guest at the heavenly feast
lncTc Il ucdlnlcss lie, III cllallGtleSS cIllne,
Where our father looks on the face of God;
With this blissful hope and this faith sublime,
Oh. wherefore weep by the low, green sod?
OH tell us this in that life above
Is there thought of the sad ones left below?
Does he love us still with fathers love?
Our griefs and joys does he fondly know?
Does he hear our signs? Does he see our
tears?
Does he list as we murmur his name in pray
er?
Does nc know our harassing doubts and fears /?
Does he guide our steps with a fathers care !:
Is it his touch that at times we feel
Soothing our souls to holy peace?
Is he near us ever in woe and veal?
Oh. tell us this and our tears shall cease.
Yes, there's a ray that can pierce the gloom,
There's power that can break through the
bands of death,
There's a spirit union that mocks the tomb,
When love is led by the light of faith.
Oh! blest be He who hath kindly given,
This gracious balm to the stricken heart;
Who joins again with the bonds of Heaven,
The ties which on earth were torn apart.
Dear Father, now fond adieul
Adiet! how sweet the tender word!
Angels have told us the tidngs true,
That thou art living with Christ our Lord.
Friend brother! priest and father, then,
We live in love to God-with thee,
Till in his presence we meet again,
Nor part for all eternity.