"Oh! a mother's spirit hung
O'er her last pledge of earthly love,
And, while attending angel's sung,
Welcom'd her dear one home above.

"Gentle babe, I come for thee:
I did come to bear thee home,
Far from mortal agony;
Come, then, gentle infant, come.

"Yes; while o'er thy mouldering dust
Falls the tear of earthly love,
Thou shalt live amidst the just,
Brighter life in heaven above."

Every thing good in our earthly home has its echo in heaven, and sweeps
like the breath of God over the harps of the blessed. When the pious mother
kneels with her child in prayer to God, it sends a thrill of new ecstasy
into the bosom of the redeemed around His throne. When the child gives its
heart to Christ, each harp bursts forth with a new anthem of joy at the
prospect of that accession to their happy band. And oh, what unspeakable
joy must thrill the bosom of a sainted mother when the news of her child's
conversion reaches her there!--

... "A new harp is strung, and a new song is given
To the breezes that float o'er the gardens of heaven."

And there, too, sainted relations continually warn the impenitent members
of the tent-home. "Though dead they yet speak." "Turn ye, turn ye; for why