Thus we commit this mortal body to the ground in hope, and with assurances of victory.  Oh, it is one of the most wonderful of facts, that at the grave’s very portal, amid all the tears and desolation which death brings, we can stand and sing hymns of triumph—­even that song which, from the morning when the angels met Mary at the Lord’s empty supulchre, has been sounding over the graves of the dead in Christ—­“O death, where is thy sting?  O grave, where is thy victory?  The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law; but thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

How sweet, how impressive, is this scene!  No wonder that we linger here while Nature, at this evening hour, speaks to us so tenderly and beautifully of rest.  Even as yonder clouds break from the setting sun, and are tinged with glory by its parting beams, so our sorrow is illumined by this truth of the Resurrection.  There is no terror in death, and relieved by such a faith and hope, our thoughts are all of peace, and flow naturally into the mould of those familiar lines: 

  “So fades a summer cloud away,
    So sinks the gale when storms are o’er,
  So gently shuts the eye of day,
    So dies a wave along the shore.”

But this scene is adapted also to kindle aspiration in our hearts—­ aspiration to be followers of them who, through faith and patience, inherit the promises.  Her victory over death is the victory of love to Christ; and that same victory may be yours through the same Christ in whose name she conquered.  Shall we not pray that His love may be shed abroad in all our hearts in richer measure?  And can we better frame that prayer than in those lines which she wrote out of her own heart?  Let us then sing

  MORE LOVE TO THEE, O CHRIST.

    More love, O Christ, to Thee! 
  Hear Thou the prayer I make
    On bended knee: 
  This is my earnest plea,—­
  More love, O Christ, to Thee! 
  More love, O Christ, to Thee! 
    More love to Thee.

  Once earthly joy I craved,
    Sought peace and rest;
  Now Thee alone I seek;
    Give what is best!

  This all my prayer shall be,—­
  More love, O Christ, to Thee! 
    More love to Thee.

  Let sorrow do its work,
    Send grief and pain;
  Sweet are Thy messengers,
    Sweet their refrain,
  When they can sing with me
  More love, O Christ, to Thee! 
    More love to Thee.

  Then shall my latest breath
    Whisper Thy praise! 
  This be the parting cry
    My heart shall raise,
  This still its prayer shall be,
  More love, O Christ, to Thee! 
    More love to Thee.