3 Thou art gone to the grave; and, its mansion
Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lingered long;
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy
And the sound thou didst hear was the sera
4 Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee,
Since God was thy Refuge, thy Guardian, thy
Guide:
He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore
And death has no sting, since the Saviour hath died.
1 SISTER, thou wast mild and lovely,
Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening,
When it floats among the trees.
2 Peaceful be thy silent slumber,-
Peaceful in the grave so low;
Thou no more wilt join our number,
Thou no more our songs shalt know.
3 Dearest sister, thou hast left us;
Here thy loss we deeply feel;
But 't is God that hath bereft us:
He can all our sorrows heal.
4 Yet again we hope to meet thee,
When the day of life is fled,
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,
Where no farewell tear is shed.
1 THE God of mercy will indulge
The flowing tear, the heaving sigh,
When honored parents fall around,
When friends beloved and kindred die.
2 Yet not one anxious, murmuring thought
Should with our mourning passions blend;
Nor should our bleeding hearts forget
Their mighty, ever-living Friend.
3 Parent, Protector, Guardian, Guide,
Thou art each tender name in one;
On thee we cast our every care,
And comfort seek from thee alone.
4 To thee, our Father, would we look,
Our Rock, our Portion, and our Friend,
And on thy gracious love and truth
With humble, steadfast hope depend.
The Light of the Gospel on the Tomb.
1 DARK, dark indeed, the grave would be,
Had we no light, O God, from thee;
If all we saw were all we knew,
Or hope from reason only grew.
2 But fearless now we rest in faith;
A holy life makes happy death;
"T is but a change ordained by thee,
To set the imprisoned spirit free.
3 Sad, sad indeed, 't would be to part
From those who long had shared our heart,
If thou hadst left us still to fear
Love's only heritage was here.
4 But calmly now we see them go
From out this world of pain and woe;
We follow to a home on high,
Where pure affections never die.
For Support in Death.
1 LowLy and solemn be
Thy children's cry to thee,
Father divine!
A hymn of suppliant breath,
Owning that life and death
Alike are thine.
2 O Father, in that hour
When earth all succoring power
Shall disavow,
When spear and shield and crown
In faintness are cast down,
Sustain us thou!
3 By him who bowed to take
The death-cup for our sake,
The thorn, the rod,
From whom the last dismay
Was not to pass away,
Aid us, O God!
4 Tremblers beside the grave,
We call on thee to save,
Father divine!
Hear, hear our suppliant breath;
Keep us in life and death,
Thine, only thine.
1 CLAY to clay, and dust to dust!
Let them mingle,- for they must!
Give to earth the earthly clod,
For the spirit 's fled to God.
2 Never more shall midnight's damp
Darken round this mortal lamp;
Never more shall noonday's glance
Search this mortal countenance.
3 Deep the pit, and cold the bed,
Where the spoils of death are laid;
Stiff the curtains, chill the gloom,
Of man's melancholy tomb.
4 Look aloft! The spirit 's risen ;-
Death cannot the soul imprison:
'T is in heaven that spirits dwell,
Glorious, though invisible.
5 Thither let us turn our view;
Peace is there, and comfort too :
There shall those we love be found,
Tracing joy's eternal round.
1 UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb!
Take this new treasure to thy trust;
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust.
2 No pain, no grief, no anxious fear,
Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes
Can reach the peaceful sleepers here,
While angels watch their soft repose.
3 So Jesus slept; God's dying Son
Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed
Then rest, dear saint, till from his throne
The morning break, and pierce the shade.
4 Break, sacred morning, from the skies!
Then, clothed anew in bright array,
Immortal form! to life arise,
And swell the song of endless day.
Death of a Minister in his Prime.
1 Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,
In full activity of zeal and power;
A Christian cannot die before his time,
The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour.
2 Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease;
Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest-task is done:
Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,
Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.
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