If his life a snare would prove,
Rob us of thy heavenly love,
Steal our hearts from God away,
Mercy will not let him stay.

If his life would matter raise
Of thine everlasting praise,
More his Saviour glorify,
Mercy will not let him die.

For the purpose of soothing the feelings of his bereaved wife, still enfeebled by disease, and of rendering the loss of their son subservient to her spiritual benefit, Mr. Charles Wesley wrote the following hymn, which he entitled, “A mother's act of resignation on the death of a child : ”—

Peace, my heart, be calm, be still,
Subject to my Father's will!
God, in Jesus reconciled,
Calls for his beloved child;

Who on me himself bestow'd
Claims the purchase of his blood.

Child of prayer, by grace divine
Him I willingly resign,

Through his last convulsive throes
Born into the true repose;
Born into the world above,
Glorious world of light and love.

Through the purple fountain brought,
To his Saviour's bosom caught,
Him in the pure mantle clad,
In the milk-white robe array'd,
Follower of the Lamb I see;
See the joy prepared for me!

Lord, for this alone I stay,
Fit me for eternal day;
Then thou wilt receive thy bride
To the souls beatified;

Then with all thy saints I meet,
Then my rapture is complete.

But Mr. Charles Wesley's most remarkable poetical composition, written upon this mournful and joyous occasion, was a hymn in eight parts, containing fifty-one stanzas, of six lines each, in which he gives full vent to his own deep and irrepressible feelings. It forms a perfect con

trast to the calm and soothing verses which he put into the mouth of his sorrowing and enfeebled wife. Here the poet, the father, the husband, the man of God, are seen to the greatest advantage. He begins in the language of passionate regret; he offers thanksgivings to God for the mother's preservation; he celebrates the child's escape from all the toils, the sorrows, the perils of life, and his admission into the company of the heavenly harpers; and in all the confidence and joy of hope, he anticipates his own glorification, and that of the mother, with their sainted child; praying, at the same time, for a sanctified use of the bereavement. The infant was gone; and the parents now take God alone for their portion. The following specimens are given. Who can read the touching lines without tears? Who can see the secrets of a generous and sanctified nature disclosed, without admiration and love?

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

DEAD! dead! the child I loved so well!
Transported to the world above!
I need no more my heart conceal :

I never dared indulge my love :
But may I not indulge my grief,
And seek in tears a sad relief?

Mine earthly happiness is fled,

His mother's joy, his father's hope,
(O had I died in Isaac's stead!)

He should have lived, my age's prop;
He should have closed his father's eyes,
And follow'd me to paradise.

But hath not Heaven, who first bestow'd,
A right to take his gifts away?

I bow me to the sovereign GOD,
Who snatch'd him from the evil day!

Yet nature will repeat her moan,
And fondly cry, "My son! my son!"

Turn from him, turn, officious thought!
Officious thought presents again
The thousand little acts he wrought,

Which wound my heart with soothing pain:

His looks, his winning gestures, rise,

His waving hands, and laughing eyes!

Those waving hands no more shall move,
Those laughing eyes shall smile no more:
He cannot now engage our love,

With sweet insinuating power
Our weak, unguarded hearts ensnare,
And rival his Creator there.

Farewell, (since Heaven ordains it so,)
Farewell, my yearning heart's desire!
Stunn'd with the providential blow,
And scarce beginning to respire,
I own, and bow me in the dust,
My God is good, and wise, and just.

He justly claims the first-born son,
Accepts my costly sacrifice,
Dearest of all his gifts, but one,

At his command the victim dies!
He but resumes what He had given,
He takes my sacrifice to heaven.

His wisdom timed the lingering stroke;
The mother first resolved to save;
The mother left, the child he took,
Nor let them share a common grave;
And still my better-half survives,
Joseph is dead, but Rachel lives.

The Searcher of my heart can tell
How oft its fondness I withstood;
When forced a father's joy to feel,

I shrunk from the suspected good,
Refused the perilous delight,
And hid me from the pleasing sight.

The labour of my aching breast,

The racking fears, to God are known;

I could not in his danger rest;

I trembled for my helpless son:
But all my fears for ever cease,
My son hath gain'd the port of peace!

The travail of my soul is past,

Severer than the mother's throes, For lo! my child is born at last,

The glorious life of angels knows; He bursts yon ambient azure shell, He flies from us with God to dwell.

Look down, thou happy spirit, look down,
An eye of pitying love let fall
On us, who long to share thy crown,
Who for that spotless mantle call,
In which thou shalt for ever shine,
The robe of righteousness divine.

Great King of saints, to thee alone

For mercy and for grace we pray : Thy glorious grace hath saved the son, The parents next to heaven convey, Thy power and goodness to adore, Where death and parting is no more.

Jesus, our sole support thou art,
Our only hope in deep distress;
Thy comforts calm the troubled heart;
And, cheer'd by thy victorious grace,
The mourner gives her wailings o'er,
And Rachel weeps her loss no more.

Who weeping build our infant's tomb,
With joy we hasten to our own:
That happiest day will quickly come,

When we shall lay our burden down, When loosed from earth our souls shall soar, And find whom we shall lose no more.

No human heart can e'er conceive
The transports of our meeting there,
Where pure departed spirits live,

Where one we fondly deem'd our heir,
To full angelic stature grown,
Inherits an immortal crown.

Arrived above, the stranger stands,
Encompass'd with acclaiming quires;
He hears, and waves his plausive hands,
Transported with the harpers' lyres,
Expands his tuneful soul to prove
The' harmonious powers of heavenly love.

Angels, rejoice! a child is born

Into your happier world above!
Let poor short-sighted mortals mourn,
While on the wings of heavenly love

An everlasting spirit flies,

To claim his kindred in the skies.