BAXTER'S POEMS. The grave also shall keep My dust in quiet sleep, Till the coming of my Lord: That flesh shall shine with God, That now is but a clod, And must lie as a thing abhorr'd. Death. Thy merry days are gone ; Thou shalt no longer stay: Thy life.shall end in pain: Thy time and work is done, And all tpy sport and play; And never shall come again . Here take thy leave of health, And of thy goods and wealth; And of every pleasant friend : Bid farewell to them all, For here thy corse shall fall ; And the world to thee shall end. Believer. Boast not, 0 conquer'd foe ! For thou couldst have no strength , But what comes from my sin: My Lord will overthrow Thy power at the length ; And will thy prisoners win: Thou couldst not keep my head, When he lay in thy bed ; But he rose, and now doth reign: He'll take away thy sting, And endless life will bring, And with him shall I remain . I ll
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