And Heav'ns high dome resounds with praise.

And when the hangman's task was done,
Joy filled the stricken mother's breast.
She felt her dear misguided son,
Through Jesus' blood, had sunk to rest.

And while she linger'd on the earth,
Glory to God was hourly given,
For that mysterious spirit's birth,
That makes the soul an heir of Heav'n.




Picture No. IV.


In agony a mother knelt
Beside her wasted pulseless child;
"Give, oh, give him back to me,"
She cried, in accents stern and wild.

That prayer was heard, the answer came:
The feeble pulse revived again;
And quick the crimson tide of life
Flowed warmly back through every vein.

Yet, though the mother saw the change,
No praise unto her God was given;