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The poem "I Know Thou Hast Gone to the Home of the Blest" is by British author Thomas Kibble Hervey. Alternate title: "I Know Thou Hast Gone to the Home of thy Rest."

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In Dexter, Mich, Oct. lLth, Wbaltuy ushman Denison, wife of Rev. Wm. C. )enison. In his funeral sermón, Rev. Mr. Fosler ays: "The best memorial you have of her is hat her Ufe hos indelibly written upon your earts. I will say, howevor, briefly - Ihat Wealthy us liman Denmon was bom in Fair Haven, t. in 1813. She wns the datighter of an minent minister whope home was in the armest offections of al! who knew him. He 8aid to have been a pencenjaker, and henee nheritett the earth" long, and was finallv nthered, like a 6hoclt of corn,into the store - jouse of heaven. It is then easy to know what ere the early aásociates which in richness ustered around the chilchood of Wealthy. t is easy to see how those seeds were early otvn- the fruit of which many of rou have een permitled to gather. In her early years, ie was of feebie constitution, and it was ofn expected that the bud would b& pluerked e it had bloomed; but God had other degns. In tbe year 1830, so memorable to thouandsin New England and New York for the chness nnd universality of its revivals, she mbraced the proffers of redeeming love, and entified her interests with Christ's by oning with the church in her native place. - 'rom xhat time to the period of her residence mong you, her life olwoys told. that "For to rr to live was Christ."Since your acquaintance wiih her, I need ot say what has been her de?otion to everyhing that concerned the welfare of Zion. I eed not say that 6he vvaa not only a Chrislan, but that ebe was everything that ought to onstitute a minisler's toife. She was a confidant of all and a betrayer of none - she could ebuke the wayward and encaurage thedesponding - she could restrain the precipítate, and urge the timid to activity. Every class n community - though death be gain to her, will fee) that it is loas to (hem. She was with empha8Í3 a Philanthropisi. Wherever she knew that human Iiearts were bleeding, tbere was her sympathy. Hers was not a longsighted philanthropy which could see the heothen "across the ocean wave," and overlook the victims of cruelty and 6uperstition around her own door. No particular class of the wretched were made the exclusive obects of her regard. The Cburch to which shc was a member will feel her loss. Her voice will no more be iieard in thefemale prayer meeting. Hérindustry in furnishing thia "new-made" house of God in which she bad hoped to enjoy christïan communíon, will no inore stimulate others to noble Êelf-denying. During her illness, slie oflen expressed an anxiety to see this house, into which she never entered until tociay, and from which we wil! cárry her to the tomb, and hide herfrora our view, until the blast of the Angel's trump. She.died on Saturday evening, Oct. 12, and hasted to commence a Sabbath that will never end." l know thöu hast gone to the home of the biest, Then why should rny heart be eo sad! I know thou host gone wliere the weory have rest, And the mourner looks up - and ia glad! Where love has put off, ïn the land of ite birth, The stain, it had gaiheredin this, And hope, the sweet choriner that gladdened the earih, Lies asleep on the bosom of blisst I know thou host gone wher e thy forehead is starr'd With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul, Where the light of thy loveliness cannot b mTTreá,Nor thy heart be flung hack from its goah I know thou hnst drank of ihe Lethe that flows Thro' a land where they do not forget, That sheds over memory only repose, And takes from it - only regret. ín thyfar away d welling, wherever it be, I believe thou hast viaions of mine - And the love that made all thingsas mosic to me, I have not yet learnt to resign: In the hush of the niglu - on tbe waste of the sca Or alone with tho brceze on the hill, I have ever a pre9cnce that whispers of tliee- And my spirit lies down - and is still t Mine eye must be dark, that so long has been dim. Ere again itmay gnze upon thine; But my heart has revealings of thee, and thy home, In many a token and sign. I never lo.ik up with a vow to the sky, But a light iike thy beauty is there - And I hear a low raurmur Hite thine, in reply, Wlien kneeling devouily in prayer. And tho' Iike a mourner thnt sits by a tomb, I nni wrapped in a maulle of care - Yet the grief of my bosom- Ohl cali it not gloom, Is not the black grief of despair; By eorrow revealed, as the stars are by night, Far off - a bright visión appears, And hope - Iike the rainbow, a being of light, Is born - like the rainbow - in tears. ín tbis village on the 5th inst., of protractillness, Caivin E. youngest son of Rial B. and Saljy Cliasc, aged 4 yeara.