Clean hands, and a self-ruling mind
  Ever in tune for love and praise.

Then, potent with the spell of Heaven,
  Go, and thine erring brother gain,
Entice him home to be forgiven,
  Till he, too, see his Saviour plain.

Or, if before thee in the race,
  Urge him with thine advancing tread,
Till, like twin stars, with even pace,
  Each lucid course be duly aped.

No fading frail memorial give
  To soothe his soul when thou art gone,
But wreaths of hope for aye to live,
  And thoughts of good together done.

That so, before the judgment-seat,
  Though changed and glorified each face,
Not unremembered ye may meet
  For endless ages to embrace.

  We were not by when Jesus came,
  But round us, far and near,
  We see His trophies, and His name
  In choral echoes hear.
  In a fair ground our lot is cast,
  As in the solemn week that past,
  While some might doubt, but all adored,
Ere the whole widowed Church had seen her risen Lord.

  Slowly, as then, His bounteous hand
  The golden chain unwinds,
  Drawing to Heaven with gentlest band
  Wise hearts and loving minds.
  Love sought Him first—at dawn of morn
  From her sad couch she sprang forlorn,
  She sought to weep with Thee alone,
And saw Thine open grave, and knew that thou wert gone.