In Memoriam
[From the many loving tributes to my sister’s memory, the following are selected for reproduction here.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF MY DEAR AUNT, F. R. H.
FUNE 3rd, 1879.
Tue King’s ‘all glorious” daughter
Hath reached her home to-day;
She was so true and loyal
Along her heavenward way!
Her faith was ever gazing
Towards that peaceful shore,
Her eyes were ever watching
The Everlasting ‘‘ Door.”
As on the ‘‘ wheels of fire,”
The chariot bore her home,
The King hath called her higher
Into His royal dome.
The trumpet tone hath sounded,
Her willing voice replied;
Now, with encircled glory,
She sitteth at His side.
Christ’s perfect ‘‘blood that cleanseth”
Was all her entrance plea;
That crimson stream which floweth
Hath set her spirit free;
And, ‘‘I am trusting Jesus”
Was the keynote of her life,
She realized His power
Throughout her earthly strife,
=o es
She gloried in His Presence,
Exulted in His Love!
Thus making earth a foretaste
Of richer joys above!
She gave up human favour
To win a soul for Him,
Nor did her own life’s shadows
Ever her ardour dim.
Like Him, her blesséd Master,
She ever sought to cheer
Those weary ones in darkness,
Along this desert drear.
Her soul-inspiring music
Enchained the listening throng;
And countless hearts were lightened
By her ‘‘ Ministry of Song.”
That gentle, holy streamlet,
Which ‘‘ Under the Surface” lay,
Hath reached the mighty ocean
Where all is perfect day!
Her ‘‘Life Mosaic” glittered
With many a sparkling gem;
Her King’s hand now hath set it
In His royal diadem.
Now, sisters, ye who mourn her,
Let this your tribute be;
E’en as this sainted minstrel,
“Tell out” Christ’s love so free!
Lay at His feet your song-gift,
Ask Him your voice to fill
With holy, heavenly music,
Echo of His sweet will,
CECILIA HavERGAL,
OUR ‘SWEET SINGER.”
Was there silence over yonder?
Did the angels cease to sing,
As they waited on in wonder
For the mandate of their King?
When the royal word was given,
By which all our hopes were crushed,
Was there silence up in heaven?
Were the Hallelujahs hushed?
When the shining golden sceptre
Touched the form we loved so well,
As we wished we could have kept her,
That she still with us might dwell;
While the messenger descended,
Calling her from us away,
While our knees in prayer were bended,
Pleading hard for her to stay;
Was there restless earnest longing
Mid the white-robed choral band,
As with eager footsteps thronging
At the gate they took their stand?
Was there overflowing gladness,
On each bright expectant face,
While ovr hearts were bowed with sadness,
And we mourned her vacant place?
Ah! methinks that when she entered
Those celestial courts above,
Every thought and eye was centred
On the object of their love,
That the silence then was broken
By triumphant bursts of song,
For the word the King had spoken,
Which had bid her join their throng.
But she passed them all unheeded,
With a quick impatient spring;
As she onward, onward speeded,
Till she stood before her King.
How her raptured eyes would glisten,
With a lustre, oh, so bright!
And she still would stand to listen,
And to revel in that sight!
Then methinks she struck the chorus,
And her rich melodious voice
Was above their tones sonorous,
Even sweeter and more choice.
But to us the echo, stealing,
Of the beautiful refrain,
Bringeth life, and light, and healing,
Bidding us look up again.
Now we need not, cannot sorrow,
We must wipe our tears away;
And from her example borrow
Courage in the darkest day.
We must think of her as dwelling
In the presence of her King,
Where the angel-voices swelling
Make the palace walls to ring.
If we daily do our duty
With her singleness of aim,
We shall see His wondrous beauty,
And shall magnify His name.
We may not be highly gifted,
We may fill a little space;
But the meek shall be uplifted,
And the pure ones see His face.
ELLEN LAKSHMI GOREH,
“THE GATES OF HEAVEN.”
In the forefront of God’s embattled host, Long in her Master’s service had she striven, So she could raise the evangelic boast — ‘Splendid to be so near the Gates of Heaven.”
Amid the sacred choir who praise the King A harp of sweetest strings to her was given; And now she felt what she was wont to sing — ‘Splendid to be so near the Gates of Heaven.”
With self-consuming labour she had cast In the world’s careless mass the gospel leaven, And now could say, her tired hand stayed at last, — ‘* Splendid to be so near the Gates of Heaven.”
Much had she loved Him whom she had not seen; The veil which hid His face was almost riven;
Deep was the outburst of her joy serene — ‘*Splendid to be so near the Gates of Heaven.”
And now she stands before the Father’s throne, The Lamb who once was slain, the Spirits seven; Ah, who can tell the bliss which thrills her tone — «Splendid to be wéthim the Gates of Heaven!” RICHARD WILTON, M.A,
Londesborough Rectory.
In MEmorIAM..
FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.
F aAREWELL, fond spirit, bright before the throne, R adiant thy robe, transfigured like the sun; Angel of song, with harp and heart and voice, Near the bright Seraphim of God rejoice;
C ould we but see thee in thy ‘‘ palace” fair,
E ver with God, His glory now to share,
Should we not sing our loudest chorus there?
SS
R est thee, dear soul, thy toils and trials o’er,
In Heaven is rest, for pilgrims evermore;
Death takes the body out of mortal sight,
Life lifts the spirit into Heaven’s own light;
E ver with God, thy fathers’ God, to be,
Y outh without age, a bright Eternity.
Hark! ’tis a song, as never sung before;
Anthem more sweet, from yon bright happy shore;
V oice ever thrilling, singing now above,
E ndless its praises of the Father’s love.
Rest, aching head! for after toil is rest;
God takes thee home — home to thy Father’s breast,
All weary pain and travel of the road
Lost in the light and glory of thy God!
RosBerT MaAGuire, D.D.
“SO BEAUTIFUL TO GO.”
“SoO BEAUTIFUL TO GO!” The joys of time are waning; The friends I loved so well have hastened on before;
And, as they passed away, — my longing heart restraining, I’ve asked when 7 should join them on the blesséd shore?
*©So BEAUTIFUL TO GO!” for heaven is wondrous dearer, Since cherished human links have bound me to the Throne!
Oft hath the veil-seemed rent, and heaven itself been nearer, As hope by hope hath faded, — some but newly blown!
‘So BEAUTIFUL TO GO!” to leave earth’s many sorrows, To enter on the fulness of eternal joy!
But I had fondly dreamt of many bright to-morrows, — Of harder labour still in my dear Lord’s employ!
‘*So BEAUTIFUL TO GO!” for now my spirit boundeth At mention of that name, — that Name I love the best!
Behold a shoreless sea faith’s plummet never soundeth, — The name of Jesus, — telling me of peace and rest!
“So BEAUTIFUL TO GO,” then! — I shall be with Jesus; Yea, with that glorious Father He made known to me; Whose love that ‘‘passeth knowledge” did from sin release us, And who now calls me with Him evermore to be!
“SO BEAUTIFUL TO Go!” my life of trusting ended, — For I have trusted Thee, Lord Jesus, day by day;
And I have sung to others how Thy love transcended Earth’s noblest joys, in many a brief, but heartfelt lay!
“SO BEAUTIFUL TO GO!” yet I had hoped to linger Among Thy chosen ones, to sing yet blither songs;
For my supremest joy hath been, a humble singer, To win fresh trophies to the blood-washed throngs!
‘‘So BEAUTIFUL TO Go!” yea, it will be “‘far better”! *Twas always better far to bow to Thy sweet will; And I have ¢rzsted, Saviour, to the very letter, Thy well-tried promises, — am dying, trusting still!
And thus she passed away ; — so beautiful in dying, As she had been in living, — grand in simple faith:
Her watchword, ‘* 7rust Him,” tells the secret underlying Her fragrant life of beauty, her victorious death!
So beautiful! And now she, being dead, yet speaketh! Her songs of faith and hope shall never, never die! And even by her last, sweet, lifelike words she seeketh To prove that sémple trust will our last foe defy!
Then be it ours to garner, as a peerless treasure, Those living words that such a vital courage show; Ever to trust in Jesus, — love Him without measure; Then, too, our song shall be ‘‘ How BEAUTIFUL To GO!”
EDwIn CHAS. WRENFORD,
Millbank House, Nairn, Fune 5th, 1879.
YUNE 3d, 1879.
“SucH sad, sad news.” We say 3 And the heart bids forth weak tears. Our foolish eyes, through their own mists dim, Cannot see the resting joy of Him Who treads with her the golden way, Where the star-lamps pale in the passing ray, And the throne uplifted nears.
It came with such high urgency — The summons from her King!
He might not be denied to stay
Through the weary night, and faint hope of day,
In that quiet home beside the sea;
Who would not charge an angel’s wing
His message to His own to bring.
And we held our dear one lovingly : — Ah, the strong, scarred Hand we could not see,
When one tender touch on her wrist had lain,
Stayed its faint pulse with ecstasy,
And made our claspings vain.
Was there not a whispered name?
“Thou art Mine — My wanted one!
In Our palace that stands by the crystal sea,
Thy place is ready — up near to Me;
The seas of earth ever chafe and moan,
On her sweetest homes are her shadows thrown,
And her night must fall the same ; — ‘No murmur is heard, no dimness known,
In My land beyond the sun.”
It is sweet to prepare our home
With Love’s close-searching thought,
All through a long, glad day, for one
Who for us true, loving work has done:
To arrange the seat where the warm rays come — Where the fairest view is caught,
And a little picture shall meet the eye
That the dear hand painted in years gone byy;
To gather and place our guarded flowers,
And set out all our choicest things, — Chiding slow Time through the counted hours
That w, fold so close their wings ; — Coming pausingly back, ere the step we meet,
To make sure of all we have planned, to greet
With voiceless welcomings.
And the joy — in our home made fair,
Yet again to clasp a hand;
To meet the full light of dear, trustful eyes,
And watch for the smile of glad surprise
At Love’s simple triumphs there;
While the day is fading off the land,
As the sun shuts slowly his opal gate,
And in the tremulous, fragrant air,
All through the hush of the hours we wait
For the sentinel stars that come forth late,
In their gleaming watch to stand,
Ah! we dare not grudge to the Master His joy
In her gaze of speechful love
At the unpriced treasures His Love has bought,
The gathered bliss of Eternal Thought;
In the hidden face raised wonderingly
At a memory of fervent words inwrought,
An echo of her own music caught
In the melodies above:
As the dim earth sinks wearily
Beneath the verge of a waveless sea,
And so near her Saviour’s breast,
From the white-robed ones who round her press
so
With offered stars her crown to gem,
She learns the accent of the hymn
That may not be sung by Seraphim;
Its rapture of bliss is sealed to then — That is filling the endless silences
Where unsetting glories rest.
In this little life’s chill twilight
We shall miss her sweet words and strong;
Yet for us the stars shall come with night,
And through all the pitiless heat of the day
Our hearts must wrestle, and throb, and pray,
And trust for Evensong.
Would we take from His heart one joyous thrill
Who for us bore all the shame?
In the still, lifted light of the Sapphire Throne
That no child of earth may behold alone,
She hears a voice : — “I will,
Father, that Mine whom Thou gavest Me
Be with Me where I am.” — And while the heavens are swept and bowed
By the might of the angel-song,
And veiling their hills as a golden cloud,
Float by the ransomed throng;
She lifts to His an untroubled face,
That caught of Heaven’s light a wondrous grace,
When It lit earth’s frontier dim.
Home, in the palace of her King!
Yet in her loyal heart a prayer
That only may be spoken now,
With the promised glory on her brow,
That in fullest service, and sweetest hymn,
Her love may s¢// its tribute bring
To His — that led her there.
S. G. Prout, AUTHOR oF “Never SAy Diz.”
IN MEMORIAM. — F. R. H.
WHERE are the well-remembered lays,
Whose lingering echoes memory still
Prolongs, with fond regretful gaze,
Bent heavenward, toward the holy hill?
Where the sweet voice whose tones are mute,
The magic music of the lute?
Whither have wended the unearthly strains,
Too pure, too full of heaven to die on earth’s dark plains?
They die not! As the opening flower,
That drooped at night with closed eye,
Awakes with morn’s reviving power,
In beauty, when the sun is nigh;
E’en so the notes of praise expand,
Diviner, in the spirit land,
Breathing immortal incense of the skies,
Blended in sweet accord with heavenly harmonies,
i
Instinct e’en here with life Divine,
Attuned to heaven e’en here on earth,
With brighter beauty now they shine,
What men call death is their new birth;
In sweeter melody they rise,
Fragrant as flowers of paradise;
Like the angelic choir, they cannot die,
Preludes of triumph-songs of immortality!
E’en while they spring to life and light,
Wafted on seraph-wings to heaven,
Their beauty lingers round our night,
Their sweetness to our earth is given;
Upon our darkling path below
Their glory, streaming, gilds our woe,
‘Their heayen-born tone, earth’s voices in refrain,
Mingling responsive music, echo back again.
Sydling Vicarage, Dorset. W. J. Vernon, B.A.
“SWEET SINGER AND YET STRONG.”
SWEET singer! singing long
Songs that have found an echo in the heart
Of thousands, in life’s conflict bearing part — Sweet singer, and yet strong!
The strength and sweetness meet In thee, as day-dawn on some mountain’s head, Or summer sunset on the ocean shed —
Strong singer, and yet sweet!
Wise singer! To the sad
Giving the comfort that thy God gave thee,
Even to “all” thy “living,” it may be — Wise singer, making glad!
Glad singer! upon eyes
Opened to see the light that shone for thine,
A brighter light, thy singing brought, would shine — Glad singer, making wise!
God’s singer! In a land
Of alien thought and language thou didst sing
The songs of Zion; now before thy King,
Blest singer, thou dost stand!
Thine earthly singing o’er — Thy singing sweet, and strong, and glad, and wise — Thou art, among the choir of paradise,
A. singer evermore!
Swafield, North Walsham, G. R. Taytor, M.A.
Fune 10th, 1879.
IN MEMORY OF F. R. H.,
WHO ENTERED INTO REST JUNE 3RD, 1879.
Aged 42 Years.
FortTy-TWwo stations, and then fair Canaan’s rest,
God’s Israel journeyed, and in full time were blest;
The number of the waymarks their Guide could tell,
The route of all the wanderings He ordered well. (Numbers xxxiii.)
Forty-two portions according to God’s will,
Varied the labours, and diverse too the skill;
Forty-two portions, then Salem’s wall was raised,
The work was finished — Jehovah God was praised. (Nehemiah iii.)
Forty-two descents, and then the Christ was born, Crown and sceptre His, and ours the eternal morn; The hour of Advent all wisely fixed above,
‘* Forty-two,” counted by rich Almighty Love.
(Matthew i. 17.)
Forty-two brief years, and then the rest of heaven,
God’s pure home was hers, the welcome sweet was given 3
Journeys and buildings, all now for ever o’er,
*Neath Love’s own banner, “with Christ” for evermore. (Philippians i, 23.) A. C.. THISELTON,
Parsonage, Upper Bagot St., Dublin,
Se Se ae
FUNE 3rd, 1879.
THE Church’s sweetest minstrel
Has left her ranks to-day;
The Master sent His summons
To call her hence away:
A summons to His presence,
To see Him face to face,
To share with Him His glory,
In her appointed place.
She sees Him in His beauty,
‘©The King” she served so well,
Of whose perfections daily
She loved so much to tell.
His least command she followed,
His slightest wish obeyed;
So when His herald met her,
She could not be afraid.
But oh! our sweet, sweet singer,
Gone from our midst for aye!
Who now shall lead our choirs
Since thou hast passed away?
No hand can tune the lyre
So tenderly as thine;
No other voice can reach us,
‘With strains almost Divine.
Thousands on earth have loved thee,
Who never saw thy face;
In countless hearts thy teachings
Have found abiding place,
The truths which thou hast uttered,
In purest melody,
Have reached the souls of numbers,
Though all unknown to thee.
Through England’s wide dominions
We mourn from shore to shore,
That Frances RIDLEY HAVERGAL
Is in our midst no more.
That name so dear, so precious,
Loved as a ‘‘ household word,”
Henceforth to us is sacred,
For she is ‘‘ with the Lord!”
We mourn in silent sadness
The loss we have sustained;
The tears still flow unbidden,
Our hearts within are pained.
And yet we dare not murmur,
Nor ask why this must be,
Since God’s own hand has silenced
That sweetest minstrelsy.
ALICE ForREsT,
FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.
FRUITFUL in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God. — Col. i, 10.
Rooted and built up in Him. — Col. ii. 7. A chosen vessel unto Me, to bear My name. — Ac#s ix, 15. N ow lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace. — Lve ii. 29.
Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death. — PAi?. i. 20. °
Everlasting joy shall be upon their head. — JZsa. li. 11.
Satisfied with favour, and full with the blessing of the Lord. — Deut. xxxiii. 23.
Rise up, My love, My fair one, and come away ! — Cawt. ii. Io. If ye loved Me, ye would rejoice. — Fohn xiv. 28.
Delight thyself also in the Lord. — Ps. xxxvii. 4.
Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us. — Ps, xe. 17. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord ! — J/att. xxy. 21.
Y e know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord. — 1 Cor. xv.58,
Having the glory of God, her light was like unto a stone most precious. — fev, xxi. II.
As the lily among thorns, so is My love among the daughters. — Cant. ii. 2.
Verily, verily, i say unto you... your sorrow shall be turned into joy. — Johz xvi. 20.
Except a corn of wheat fall imto the ground and die, it abideth alone. — Fohn xii. 24.
Rejoice in the Lord alway, and again I say, rejoice. — Phil. iv. 4. God Himself shall be with them, and be their God. — Lev. xxi. 3.
And they shall see His face, and His name shall be in their foreheads. — Rev. xxii. 4.
Let Me go, for the day breaketh. — Gen, xxxii. 26. I trust I shall shortly see thee, and we shall speak face to face.” — 3 Fohn 14. Emity M. CoomMBeE.
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