Still, still the humble soul would say,
In lowly dust, "Thy will be done.”
2 Whate'er, O Lord, thou hast designed
To bring my soul to thee in trust,
If mercies or afflictions kind,
For all thy dealings Lord are just,
Take all, but grant, in goodness free,
That love which ne'er thy stroke would shun
Support this heart and strengthen me
To say in faith, "Thy will be done.”
The Christian's Triumph over Death.
1 O, FOR a firm and lively faith,
Which may the grave defy,
And, trusting what the gospel saith,
May triumph when we die!
2 Joyful, with all the strength we have,
Our feeble lips would sing,
"Where is thy boasted victory, Grave?
O Death, where is thy sting?"
3 Pardon and life, how dear each word!
God life and pardon sends,
And, by our dying, rising Lord,
Insures to all his friends.
4 All glory be to God on high,
And endless thanks be paid,
Who makes us conquerors, though we die,
Through Christ our living Head.
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 th' 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.
1 IN the broad fields of heaven, -
In the immortal bowers
By life's clear river dwelling,
Amid undying flowers, -
There hosts of beauteous spirits,
Fair children of the earth,
Linked in bright bands celestial,
Sing of their human birth.
2 They sing of earth and heaven,-
Divinest voices rise
To God, their gracious Father,
Who called them to the skies :
They all are there, —in heaven,
Safe, safe, and sweetly blest;
No cloud of sin can shadow
Their bright and holy rest.
1 FATHER, gathered round the bier,
Aid thy weeping children here
All our stricken hearts deplore
Loss of him we meet no more.
2 Tender are the rites we pay,
Pastor, o'er thy sleeping clay;
We, who late the welcome gave,
Must we bear thee to thy grave ?
3 Earth, unto thy faithful trust
We commit this precious dust,
There, by pain no more oppressed,
Brother, thou wilt sweetly rest.
4 Glorious will that morning break,
When the dead in Christ shall wake;
Joy and grief our bosoms swell,
Brother, pastor, guide, farewell.
1 BROTHER, thou art gone before us,
And thy saintly soul is flown,
Where tears are wiped from every eye,
And sorrow is unknown:
From the burden of the flesh,
And from care and fear released,
Where the wicked cease from troubling
And the weary are at rest.
2 Brother, yes, thy course is finished;
Thou hast borne earth's heavy load,
But Christ has taught thy languid feet.
To reach his blest abode :
Sweetly art thou sleeping now,
On thy Father's faithful breast,
Where the wicked cease from troubling
And the weary are at rest.
3 Sin no more can taint thy spirit,
Nor can doubt thy faith assail;
Thy soul its welcome has received,
Thy strength shall never fail :
And thou 'rt sure to meet the good,
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,
Where the wicked cease from troubling
And the weary are at rest.
4 To thy grave we sadly bear thee,
There in dust we place thy head,
We lay the turf above thee now,
And seal thy narrow bed;
But thy spirit soars away,
Free, among the faithful blest,
Where the wicked cease from troubling
And the weary are at rest.
5 When the Lord shall send his summons
Unto us who 're left behind,
May we, untainted by the world,
As sure a welcome find;
Each like thee depart in peace
To the kingdom of the blest,
Where the wicked cease from troubling
And the weary are at rest.
LIFE, DEATH, AND FUTURITY.
Brevity and Frailty of Life.
1 HOW short and hasty is our life'
How vast our soul's affairs !
Yet foolish mortals vainly strive
To lavish out their years.
2 Our days run thoughtlessly along,
Without a moment's stay;
Just like a story or a song,
We pass our lives away.
3 God from on high invites us home;
But we march heedless on,
And, ever hastening to the tomb,
Stoop downward as we run.
4 Draw us, O God, with sovereign grace,
And lift our thoughts on high,
That we may end this mortal race,
And see salvation nigh.
Man hastening to the Grave.
1 LORD, what a feeble piece
Is this our mortal frame!
Our life, how poor a trifle 't is,
That scarce deserves the name!
2 Alas! 't was brittle clay
That formed our body first; And every month, and every day, 'T is mouldering back to dust,
3 Our moments fly apace;
Nor will our minutes stay;
Just like a flood our hasty days
Are sweeping us away.
4 Then, if our days must fly,
We'll keep their end in sight;
We'll spend them all in wisdom's way,
And let them speed their flight.
5 They'll waft us sooner o’er
This life's tempestuous sea:
We soon shall reach the peaceful shore
Of blest eternity.
Life short, and Man frail.
1 TEACH me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame;
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