wife and children came in his feverish dreams; deprived of the sacramental elements of the Saviour, whose place of crucifixion he had so lately contemplated-without an acquaintance to whom he might unbosom a heart filled with fond messages and tender thoughts-parental advice and priestly council-his soul took its flight to the bosom of Abraham-leaving his friends to imagine all that he suffered-all that he needed-all that he would have said. His remains, the next day, were landed at the island where Paul was shipwrecked, and interred in the burial-ground of the Lazaretto-to await the resurrection of the just.

"By foreign hands his dying eyes were closed
By foreign hands his decent limbs composed;
By foreign hands his distant grave adorned;
By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned."

By those who knew him best, and those who best knew him, esteemed him most; Dr. Bayard was considered as a man of warm affections and ardent friendships as a firm churchman and humble Christian. He was, as might be expected from such an one, a man of undisguised sincerity, ever speaking that which he thought, but seldom thinking what was not just, right, and true. The image and superscription, most conspicuously enstamped upon him, was a zeal for religion-religion as it is explained and inculcated by the Church; however, for he chose "to walk in the good old paths," and thought little and cared less of the many novelties taught by vain sectaries. An old-fashioned churchman, he believed only in the one Catholic and Apostolic Church-however others might be originated by men, who had a zeal "not according to

knowledge." He had but little confidence in the extension of the Gospel without the Church, or the Church without the ministry-nor did he account the means of grace as a barren heritage to the priesthood or the laity-but he looked upon the sacraments as something more than visible emblems to affect our memories and sympathies. Herein he

followed the doctrines and the teaching of a primitive age-indulging in no individual fancies or crude speculations, contrary to the faith of the Church Catholic; he read the lively oracles as they were illustrated by the early fathers of Christianity, and in a latter age by the earliest divines of the Church Catholic, reformed that is, the Episcopal, accounting her no less the nursing mother of learning, wisdom, and piety, than of Christian gentlemen and nobles, confessors and martyrs. With such devotion to the Church of his faith and affections, he, of course, took an active part in those various societies and institutions, by which her limits and influence might be extended. The words of the Psalmist were truth in his lips: "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning; if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth-if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy." Being dead, my brethren, he yet speaketh unto us. Blessed is he whom his example shall guide and influence-blessed is he whom his Lord, when he cometh, shall "find thus watching."

ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. DR. L. P. BAYARD.

A mournful sound has reached our ears from a far distant

clime,

That one whose voice we loved to hear, has left the shores of

time:

A shepherd, by whose tender care, his flock was gently led,
Mid pastures green and beautiful, now sleeps among the dead.
Upon that memorable wave, that bore the saints of old,
To Gentile cities tar and near, to feed the Christian fold,
A spirit like to theirs has fled, to meet its kindred throng,
And now with them united, joins in hymns of heavenly song.
Blest spirit! thy first earthly wish was granted at thy will,
Thine eyes did'st gaze upon the scene from Calvary's holy
hill,

Thy prayers ascended from the spot where thy dear Master's blood

Flowed from his wounded side for us, a precious crimson flood.

Jerusalem, thy ancient walls did hear the pilgrim's prayer, And purer strains to heaven, I ween, were never offered there,

Thy ever memorable courts held not a nobler guest,

Than him who sought thy hallowed shrines, now numbered with the blest.

The winds that o'er old ocean's caves first bore the solemn

sounds,

That a dear friend we loved to meet, his last great rest had found;

Of one bright jewel gathered, where stern pagan darkness lowers.

A pastor has been called from us, a husband, father, friend, A mourning Church, a weeping throng, in sad submission bend;

A happy home is now o'erspread with deep and solemn gloom,

For one who was their firm support, now sleeps within the

tomb.

Yet though thou hast bereaved us, Lord, we will not love

thee less,

But trust thy mercies will not fail, our needy souls to bless : The widow and the fatherless, thou surely wilt protect: The flock without a shepherd, may thy spirit now direct.

ANONYMOUS.

A

FUNERAL SERMON,

ON OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF THE

REV. LEWIS P. BAYARD, D. D.

RECTOR OF ST. CLEMENT'S CHURCH, NEW-YORK.

PREACHED IN SAID CHURCH, ON THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS, JANUARY 3, 1841.

BY BENJAMIN T. ONDERDONK, D. D.
Bishop of the Diocese of New-York,

And Professor of the Nature, Ministry, and Polity of the Church, in the General Theological Seminary of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States.

SECOND EDITION.

PREACHED AND PUBLISHED BY REQUEST OF THE WARDENS

VESTRYMEN OF ST. CLEMENT'S.

AND