On The Death Of Elizabeth Fry And Sir T. F. Buxton.

Ye have met, ye have met, disencumbered of pain,
Of sorrow, and sickness, and care;
And the slave and the prisoner, now freed from their chain,
Have rejoicingly welcomed you there.
The true light now shines and the darkness is past,
For that which is perfect is come,
And your pure loving spirits are gathered at last,
In their only congenial home.
May the balm of your memory steal through the soul,
Like a gale from Arabia the blest,
Exert o'er the feelings a sacred control,
And hush every murmur to rest!
In the world we shall seek your resemblance in vain,
Your places shall know you no more;
Yet who by a wish would recall you again?
For the days of your mourning are o'er.
The King in His beauty your eyes now behold,
He has sweetly dispelled all your fears;
To the well-spring of waters the Lamb leads His fold,
And God wipes away all their tears.
Great grace was upon you, and oh! unto us
May a manifold portion be given,
That through pardoning love we may mingle above.
A circle unbroken in Heaven!