Gently, my Saviour, let me down,

To slumber in the arms of death;

I rest my soul on thee alone,

E’en till my last, expiring breath.

2 Soon will the storm of life be o’er,

And I shall enter endless rest;

There I shall live to sin no more,

And bless thy name, for ever blest.

3 Bid me possess sweet peace within;

Let childlike patience keep my heart,

Then shall I feel my heaven begin,

Before my spirit hence depart.

4 O, speed thy chariot, God of love,

And take me from this world of woe;

I long to reach those joys above,

And bid farewell to all below.

5 There shall my raptured spirit raise

Still louder notes than angels sing,

High glories to Immanuel’s grace,

My God, my Saviour, and my King!

The morning flowers display their sweets,

And gay their silken leaves unfold,

As careless of the noon-day heats

And fearless of the evening cold.

2 Nipt by the wind’s untimely blast,

Parched by the sun’s directer ray,

The momentary glories waste,

The short-lived beauties die away.

3 So blooms the human face divine,

When youth its pride and beauty shows;

Fairer than spring the colors shine,

And sweeter than the virgin rose.

4 Or worn by slowly rolling years,

Or broke by sickness in a day,

The fading glory disappears,

The short-lived beauties die away.

5 Yet these, new-rising from the tomb,

With luster brighter far shall shine;

Revive with ever-during bloom,

Safe from diseases and decline.

6 Let sickness blast, and death devour,

If heaven must recompense our pains;

Perish the grass, and fade the flower,

If firm the word of God remains.

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 passion 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 covenant love and truth,

With humble, steadfast hope depend.

Dear is the spot where Christians sleep,

And sweet the strains their spirits pour;

O, why should we in anguish weep?

They are not lost, but gone before.

2 Secure from every mortal care,

By sin and sorrow vexed no more,

Eternal happiness they share

Who are not lost, but gone before.

3 To Zion’s peaceful courts above

In faith triumphant may we soar,

Embracing, in the arms of love,

The friends not lost, but gone before.

4 To Jordan’s bank whene’er we come,

And hear the swelling waters roar;

Jesus! convey us safely home,

To friends not lost, but gone before.

Asleep in Jesus! Blesséd sleep

From which none ever wakes to weep;

A calm and undisturbed repose,

Unbroken by the last of foes.

2 Asleep in Jesus! O how sweet

To be for such a slumber meet!

With holy confidence to sing,

That death has lost its venomed sting.

3 Asleep in Jesus! peaceful rest,

Whose waking is supremely blest:

No fear, no woe, shall dim the hour

That manifests the Saviour’s power.

4 Asleep in Jesus! O for me

May such a blissful refuge be:

Securely shall my ashes lie,

And wait the summons from on high.

5 Asleep in Jesus! time nor space

Affects this precious hiding-place:

On Indian plains, or Lapland snows,

Believers find the same repose.

6 Asleep in Jesus! far from thee

Thy kindred and their graves may be:

But thine is still a blesséd sleep,

which none ever wake to weep.

How blest the righteous when he dies!

When sinks a weary soul to rest!

How mildly beam the closing eyes!

How gently heaves the expiring breast!

2 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.

3 A holy quiet reigns around,

A calm which life nor death destroys;

And nought disturbs that peace profound

Which his unfettered soul enjoys.

4 Life’s labor done, as sinks the clay,

Light from its load the spirit flies,

While heaven and earth combine to say,

“How blest the righteous when he dies!”

As the sweet flower that scents the morn,

But withers in the rising day—

Thus lovely seemed the infant’s dawn;

Thus swiftly fled his life away!

2 Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,

Death timely came with friendly care;

The opening bud to heaven conveyed,

And bade it bloom for ever there.

3 He died to sin, and all its woes,

But for a moment felt the rod—

On love’s triumphant wing he rose,

To rest for ever with his God!

So fades the lovely, blooming flower,

Frail, smiling solace of an hour;

So soon our transient comforts fly,

And pleasure only blooms to die.

2 Is there no kind, no healing art,

To soothe the anguish of the heart?

Spirit of grace, be ever nigh;

Thy comforts are not made to die.

3 Let gentle patience smile on pain,

Till dying hope revives again;

Hope wipes the tear from sorrow’s eye,

And faith points upward to the sky.

How blest are they whose transient years

Pass like an evening meteor’s flight;

Not dark with guilt, nor dim with tears:

Whose course is short, unclouded, bright.

2 O, cheerless were our lengthened way:

But heaven’s own light dispels the gloom,

Streams downward from eternal day,

And casts a glory round the tomb.

3 O, stay thy tears; the blest above

Have hailed a spirit’s heavenly birth,

And sung a song of joy and love;

Then why should anguish reign on earth?

Why should we start and fear to die?

What timorous worms we mortals are!

Death is the gate of endless joy,

And yet we dread to enter there.

2 The pains, the groans, and dying strife,

Fright our approaching souls away;

Still we shrink back again to life,

Fond of our prison and our clay.

3 O if my Lord would come and meet,

My soul would stretch her wings in haste,

Fly fearless through death’s iron gate,

Nor feel the terrors as she passed!

4 Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,

While on his breast I lean my head,

And breathe my life out sweetly there.

The glories of our birth and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;

There is no armor against fate;

Death lays his icy hands on kings.

2 Princes and magistrates must fall,

And in the dust be equal made;

The high and mighty with the small,

Scepter and crown with scythe and spade.

3 The laurel withers on our brow;

Then boast no more your mighty deeds;

Upon death’s purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds!

Almighty Maker of my frame,

Teach me the measure of my days;

Teach me to know how frail I am,

And spend the remnant to thy praise.

2 My days are shorter than a span;

A little point my life appears;

How frail at best is dying man!

How vain are all his hopes and fears!

3 Vain his ambition, noise, and show,

Vain are the cares which rack his mind;

He heaps up treasures mixed with woe,

And dies, and leaves them all behind.

4 O be a nobler portion mine;

My God, I bow before thy throne;

Earth’s fleeting treasures I resign,

And fix my hope on thee alone.

O God, thy grace and blessing give

To us, who on thy name attend,

That we this mortal life may live

Regardful of our journey’s end.

2 Teach us to know that Jesus died,

And rose again, our souls to save;

Teach us to take him as our Guide,

Our Help from childhood to the grave.

3 Then shall not death with terror come,

But welcome as a bidden guest—

The herald of a better home,

The messenger of peace and rest.

4 And, when the awful signs appear

Of judgment, and the throne above,

Our hearts still fixed, we shall not fear,

God is our trust; and God is Love.

Though I walk through the gloomy vale,

Where death and all its terrors are,

My heart and hope shall never fail,

For God my Shepherd’s with me there.

2 Amid the darkness and the deeps,

Thou art my comfort, thou my stay;

Thy staff supports my feeble steps,

Thy rod directs my doubtful way.

O mourner! who with tender love,

Hast wept beside some infant grave,

Hast thou not sought a Friend above,

Who died thy little one to save?

2 Then lift thy weary, weeping eye

Above the waves that round thee dwell;

Is not thy darling safe on high?

Canst thou not whisper—It is well?

3 Yes, it is well—though never more

His infant form to earth be given;

He rests where sin and grief are o’er,

And thou shalt meet thy child in heaven.

No bitter tears for thee be shed,

Blossom of being! seen and gone!

With flowers alone we strew thy bed,

O blest departed one!

Whose all of life, a rosy ray,

Blushed into dawn, and passed away.

2 Yes! thou art fled, ere guilt had power

To stain thy cherub-soul and form,

Closed is the soft ephemeral flower

That never felt a storm!

The sunbeam’s smile, the zephyr’s breath,

All that it knew from birth to death.

3 Oh! hadst thou still on earth remained,

Vision of beauty! fair as brief!

How soon thy brightness had been stained

With passion or with grief!

Now, not a sullying breath can rise,

To dim thy glory in the skies.

Unvail thy bosom, faithful tomb;

Take this new treasure to thy trust,

And give these sacred relics room

To slumber in the silent dust.

2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,

Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes

Can reach the peaceful sleeper here,

While angels watch the soft repose.

3 So Jesus slept; God’s dying Son

Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed:

Rest here, blest saint, till from his throne

The morning break, and pierce the shade.

4 Break from his throne, illustrious morn;

Attend, O earth, his sovereign word;

Restore thy trust; a glorious form

Shall then arise to meet the Lord.

The hour of my departure’s come;

I hear the voice that calls me home;

At last, O Lord! let troubles cease,

And let thy servant die in peace.

2 The race appointed I have run,

The combat’s o’er, the prize is won;

And now my witness is on high,

And now my record’s in the sky.

3 Not in mine innocence I trust;

I bow before thee in the dust;

And through my Saviour’s blood alone

I look for mercy at thy throne.

4 I come, I come at thy command;

I give my spirit to thy hand;

Stretch forth thine everlasting arms,

And shield me in the last alarms.

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;

We, like a story, or a song,

Do 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 thy rich grace,

And lift our thoughts on high,

That we may end this mortal race,

And see salvation nigh.

Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell,

With all your feeble light:

Farewell, thou ever-changing moon,

Pale empress of the night.

2 And thou, refulgent orb of day,

In brighter flames arrayed;

My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere,

No more demands thine aid.

3 Ye stars are but the shining dust

Of my divine abode,

The pavement of those heavenly courts

Where I shall reign with God.

4 The Father of eternal light

Shall there his beams display,

Nor shall one moment’s darkness mix

With that unvaried day.

5 No more the drops of piercing grief

Shall swell into mine eyes;

Nor the meridian sun decline

Amid those brighter skies.

6 There all the millions of his saints

Shall in one song unite,

And each the bliss of all shall view

With infinite delight.

Death can not make our souls afraid,

If God be with us there;

We may walk through its darkest shade,

And never yield to fear.

2 I could renounce my all below,

If my Redeemer bid;

And run, if I were called to go,

And die as Moses did.

3 Might I but climb to Pisgah’s top,

And view the promised land,

My flesh itself would long to drop,

And welcome the command.

4 Clasped in my heavenly Father’s arms,

I would forget my breath,

And lose my life among the charms

Of so divine a death.

Life is a span—a fleeting hour;

How soon the vapor flies!

Man is a tender, transient flower,

That, even in blooming, dies.

2 The once-loved form, now cold and dead,

Each mournful thought employs;

And nature weeps her comforts fled,

And withered all her joys.

3 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,

When what we now deplore

Shall rise in full, immortal prime,

And bloom to fade no more.

4 Cease then, fond nature, cease thy tears,

Religion points on high;

There everlasting spring appears,

And joys that can not die.

Dear as thou wast, and justly dear

We would not weep for thee:

One thought shall check the starting tear,

It is that thou art free.

2 And thus shall faith’s consoling power

The tears of love restrain;

O, who that saw thy parting hour,

Could wish thee here again!

3 Gently the passing spirit fled,

Sustained by grace divine;

O, may such grace on us be shed,

And make our end like thine!

Why do we mourn departing friends,

Or shake at death’s alarms?

’Tis but the voice that Jesus sends

To call them to his arms.

2 Are we not tending upward, too,

As fast as time can move?

Nor would we wish the time more slow

To keep us from our Love.

3 Why should we tremble to convey

Their bodies to the tomb?

’Twas there the flesh of Jesus lay,

Amid its silent gloom.

4 The graves of all the saints he blest,

And softened every bed;

Where should the dying members rest,

But with their dying Head?

5 Thence he arose, ascending high,

And showed our feet the way;

Up to the Lord our souls shall fly,

At the great rising day.

6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,

And bid our kindred rise:

Awake, ye nations under ground;

Ye saints, ascend the skies.

When blooming youth is snatched away

By death’s resistless hand,

Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,

Which pity must demand.

2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,

O may this truth, impressed

With awful power, “I too must die,”

Sink deep in every breast.

3 Let this vain world engage no more;

Behold the opening tomb:

It bids us seize the present hour:

To-morrow death may come.

4 O let us fly—to Jesus fly,

Whose powerful arm can save;

Then shall our hopes ascend on high,

And triumph o’er the grave.

5 Great God thy sovereign grace impart,

With cleansing, healing power;

This only can prepare the heart

For death’s approaching hour.

Not for the pious dead we weep;

Their sorrows now are o’er;

The sea is calm, the tempest past,

On that eternal shore.

2 Their peace is sealed, their rest is sure,

Within that better home:

Awhile we weep and linger here,

Then follow to the tomb.

Let not your hearts with anxious thoughts

Be troubled or dismayed:

But trust in God your Father’s care,

And trust my gracious aid.

2 I to my Father’s house return;

There numerous mansions stand,

And glory manifold abounds

Through all the happy land.

3 I go your entrance to secure,

And your abode prepare;

Regions unknown are safe to you,

When I, your Friend, am there.

4 Thence shall I come when ages close,

To take you home with me;

There shall we meet to part no more,

Where sorrows ne’er shall be.

5 I am the Way, the Truth, the Life;

No son of human race,

But such as I conduct and guide,

Shall see my Father’s face.

How happy is the pilgrim’s lot!

How free from every anxious thought,

From worldly hope and fear!

Confined to neither court nor cell,

His soul disdains on earth to dwell—

He only sojourns here.

2 This happiness in part is mine,

Already saved from low design,

From every creature-love;

Blest with the scorn of finite good,

My soul is lightened of its load,

And seeks the things above.

3 There is my house and portion fair;

My treasure and my heart are there,

And my abiding home;

For me my elder brethren stay,

And angels beckon me away,

And Jesus bids me come.

4 I come, thy servant, Lord, replies;

I come to meet thee in the skies,

And claim my heavenly rest!

Soon will the pilgrim’s journey end;

Then, O my Saviour, Brother, Friend,

Receive me to thy breast!

She was the music of our home,

A day that knew no night,

The fragrance of our garden bower,

A thing all smiles and light.

2 Above the couch we bent and prayed

In the half-lighted room,

As the bright hues of infant life

Sank slowly into gloom.

3 The form remained; but there was now

No soul our love to share;

Farewell, with weeping hearts, we said,

Child of our love and care.

4 But years are moving quickly past,

And time will soon be o’er;

Death shall be swallowed up of life

On the immortal shore.

O for an overcoming faith

To cheer my dying hours,

To triumph o’er the monster death,

And all his frightful powers.

2 Joyful, with all the strength I have,

My quivering lips shall sing,

Where is thy boasted victory, grave?

And where the monster’s sting?

3 If sin be pardoned, I’m secure—

Death has no sting beside;

The law gives sin its damning power,

But Christ my ransom died.

4 Now to the God of victory

Immortal thanks be paid,

Who makes us conquerors while we die,

Through Christ our living Head.

What though the arm of conquering death

Does God’s own house invade;

What though our teacher and our friend

Is numbered with the dead;—

2 Though earthly shepherds dwell in dust,

The agéd and the young;

The watchful eye in darkness closed,

And dumb the instructive tongue?

3 The eternal Shepherd still survives,

His teachings to impart:

Lord, be our Leader and our Guide,

And rule and keep our heart.

4 Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives,

We have a boundless store,

And shall be fed with what he gives,

Who lives for evermore.

O where shall rest be found—

Rest for the weary soul?

’Twere vain the ocean-depths to sound,

Or pierce to either pole.

2 The world can never give

The bliss for which we sigh:

’Tis not the whole of life to live,

Nor all of death to die.

3 Beyond this vale of tears

There is a life above,

Unmeasured by the flight of years;

And all that life is love.

4 There is a death whose pang

Outlasts the fleeting breath:

O what eternal horrors hang

Around the second death!

5 Lord God of truth and grace,

Teach us that death to shun,

Lest we be banished from thy face,

And evermore undone.

It is not death to die—

To leave this weary road,

And, ’mid the brotherhood on high,

To be at home with God.

2 It is not death to close

The eye long dimmed by tears,

And wake, in glorious repose,

To spend eternal years.

3 It is not death to bear

The wrench that sets us free

From dungeon chain—to breathe the air

Of boundless liberty.

4 It is not death to fling

Aside this sinful dust,

And rise, on strong, exulting wing,

To live among the just.

5 Jesus, thou Prince of life!

Thy chosen can not die;

Like thee, they conquer in the strife,

To reign with thee on high.

Our fathers! where are they,

With all they called their own?

Their joys and griefs, their hopes and cares,

Their wealth and honor, gone!

2 But joy or grief succeeds,

Beyond our mortal thought,

While still the remnant of their dust

Lies in the grave forgot.

3 God of our fathers, hear,

Thou everlasting Friend,

While we, as on life’s utmost verge,

Our souls to thee commend.

Far from my heavenly home,

Far from my Father’s breast,

Fainting, I cry, Blest Saviour! come,

And speed me to my rest.

2 My spirit homeward turns,

And fain would thither flee;

My heart, O Zion! droops and yearns,

When I remember thee.

3 To thee, to thee, I press,

A dark and toilsome road;

When shall I pass the wilderness

And reach the saints’ abode.

4 God of my life! be near;

On thee my hopes I cast;

O guide me through the desert here,

And bring me home at last!

Go to thy rest, fair child!

Go to thy dreamless bed,

While yet so gentle, undefiled,

With blessings on thy head.

2 Fresh roses in thy hand,

Buds on thy pillow laid,

Haste from this dark and fearful land,

Where flowers so quickly fade.

3 Before thy heart had learned

In waywardness to stray;

Before thy feet had ever turned

The dark and downward way;

4 Ere sin had seared the breast,

Or sorrow woke the tear;

Rise to thy throne of changeless rest,

In yon celestial sphere!

5 Because thy smile was fair,

Thy lip and eye so bright,

Because thy loving cradle care

Was such a dear delight;

6 Shall love, with weak embrace,

Thy upward wing detain?

No! gentle angel, seek thy place

Amid the cherub train.

Servant of God, well done!

Rest from thy loved employ;

The battle fought, the victory won,

Enter thy Master’s joy.

2 The voice at midnight came;

He started up to hear;

A mortal arrow pierced his frame,

He fell, but felt no fear.

3 Tranquil amid alarms,

It found him on the field,

A veteran slumbering on his arms,

Beneath his red-cross shield.

4 At midnight came the cry,

“To meet thy God, prepare!”

He woke—and caught his Captain’s eye;

Then, strong in faith and prayer,

5 His spirit, with a bound,

Left its encumbering clay;

His tent, at sunrise, on the ground,

A darkened ruin lay.

6 The pains of death are past,

Labor and sorrow cease;

And life’s long warfare, closed at last,

His soul is found in peace.

Though I walk the downward shade,

Deepening through the vail of death,

Yet I will not be afraid,

But, with my departing breath,

I will glory in my God,

In my Saviour I will trust,

Strengthened by his staff and rod,

While this body falls to dust.

2 Soon on wings, on wings of love,

My transported soul shall rise,

Like the home-returning dove,

Vanishing through boundless skies:

Then, where death shall be no more,

Sin nor suffering e’er molest,

All my days of mourning o’er,

In his presence I shall rest.

Deathless spirit, now arise!

Soar, thou native of the skies!

Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,

To his glorious likeness wrought,

Go, to shine before his throne,

Deck his mediatorial crown;

Go, his triumph to adorn;

Made for God, to God return.

2 Lo! he beckons from on high!

Fearless to his presence fly;

Thine the merit of his blood,

Thine the righteousness of God!

Angels, joyful to attend,

Hovering round thy pillow bend,

Wait, to catch the signal given,

And escort thee quick to heaven.

3 Is thy earthly house distressed,

Willing to retain its guest?

’Tis not thou, but it, must die—

Fly, celestial tenant, fly!

Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,

Sweetly breathe thyself away,

Singing, to thy crown remove,

Swift of wing, and fired with love.

Fallen—on Zion’s battle-field,

A soldier of renown,

Armed in the panoply of God,

In conflict cloven down!

His helmet on his armor bright,

His cheek unblanched with fear—

While round his head there gleamed a light,

His dying hour to cheer.

2 Fallen—while cheering with his voice

The sacramental host,

With banners floating on the air—

Death found him at his post;

In life’s high prime the warfare closed,

But not ingloriously;

He fell beyond the outer wall,

And shouted, victory!

[3 Fallen—a holy man of God,

An Israelite indeed,

A standard bearer of the cross,

Mighty in word and deed—

A master spirit of the age,

A bright and burning light,

Whose beams across the firmament

Scattered the clouds of night.]

4 Fallen—as sets the sun at eve,

To rise in splendor where

His kindred luminaries shine,

Their heaven of bliss to share;

Beyond the stormy battle-field

He reigns in triumph now,

Sweeping a harp of wondrous song,

With glory on his brow!

They are going—only going—

Jesus called them long ago;

All the wintery time they’re passing,

Softly as the falling snow.

When the violets in the spring-time

Catch the azure of the sky,

They are carried out to slumber

Sweetly where the violets lie.

2 They are going—only going—

When with summer earth is dressed,

In their cold hands holding roses

Folded to each silent breast;

When the autumn hangs red banners

Out above the harvest sheaves,

They are going—ever going—

Thick and fast, like falling leaves.

3 All along the mighty ages,

All adown the solemn time,

They have taken up their homeward

March to that serener clime,

Where the watching, waiting angels

Lead them from the shadow dim,

To the brightness of his presence

Who has called them unto him.

4 They are going—only going—

Out of pain and into bliss—

Out of sad and sinful weakness

Into perfect holiness.

Snowy brows—no care shall shade them;

Bright eyes—tears shall never dim;

Rosy lips—no time shall fade them:

Jesus called them unto him.

5 Little hearts for ever stainless—

Little hands as pure as they—

Little feet by angels guided,

Never a forbidden way!

They are going—ever going—

Leaving many a lonely spot;

But ’tis Jesus who has called them—

Suffer and forbid them not.

Dropping down the troubled river

To the tranquil, tranquil shore,

Where the sweet light shineth ever,

And the sun goes down no more.

2 Dropping down the winding river

To the wide and welcome sea,

Where no tempest wrecketh ever,

Where the sky is fair and free.

3 Dropping down the rapid river,

To the dear and deathless land,

Where the living live for ever

At the Father’s own right hand.

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 ’tis 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.

Happy soul! thy days are ended,

All thy mourning days below;

Go, by angel guards attended,

To the sight of Jesus go!

Waiting to receive thy spirit,

Lo! the Saviour stands above;

Shows the purchase of his merit,

Reaches out the crown of love.

2 Struggling through thy latest passion

To thy dear Redeemer’s breast,

To his uttermost salvation,

To his everlasting rest;

For the joy he sets before thee,

Bear thy transitory pain;

Die, to live a life of glory;

Suffer, with thy Lord to reign.

What is life? ’tis but a vapor,

Soon it vanishes away:

Life is but a dying taper—

O, my soul, why wish to stay!

Why not spread thy wings and fly

Straight to yonder world of joy!

2 See that glory, how resplendent!

Brighter far than fancy paints;

There, in majesty transcendent,

Jesus reigns the King of saints,

Why not spread thy wings and fly

Straight to yonder world of joy!

3 Joyful crowds his throne surrounding,

Sing with rapture of his love;

Through the heavens his praise resounding,

Filling all the courts above.

Why not spread thy wings and fly

Straight to yonder world of joy!

4 Go, and share his people’s glory,

’Midst the ransomed crowd appear;

Thine a joyful, wondrous story,

One that angels love to hear.

Why not spread thy wings and fly

Straight to yonder world of joy!

Tossed no more on life’s rough billow,

All the storms of sorrow fled,

Death hath found a quiet pillow

For the agéd Christian’s head,

Peaceful slumbers

Guarding now his lowly bed.

2 O, may we be reunited

To the spirits of the just,

Leaving all that sin has blighted

With corruption, in the dust;

Hear us, Jesus,

Thou our Lord, our Life, our Trust.

When the vale of death appears,

Faint and cold this mortal clay,

Blest Redeemer, soothe my fears,

Light me through the gloomy way;

Break the shadows,

Usher in eternal day.

2 Upward from this dying state

Bid my waiting soul aspire;

Open thou the crystal gate;

To thy praise attune my lyre:

Then, triumphant,

I will join the immortal choir.

Time is winging us away

To our eternal home;

Life is but a winter’s day—

A journey to the tomb;

Youth and vigor soon will flee;

Blooming beauty lose its charms;

All that’s mortal soon shall be

Inclosed in death’s cold arms.

2 Time is winging us away

To our eternal home;

Life is but a winter’s day—

A journey to the tomb!

But the Christian shall enjoy

Health and beauty soon above,

Far beyond the world’s alloy,

Secure in Jesus’ love.

Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,

In full activity of zeal and power;

A Christian can not 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; the harvest-task is done;

Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,

Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.

3 Go to the grave; for thee thy Saviour lay

In death’s embrace, ere he arose on high;

And all the ransomed, by that narrow way,

Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.

4 Go to the grave—no; take thy seat above;

Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord,

Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love,

And open vision for the written word.

Weep not for the saint that ascends

To partake of the joys of the sky,

Weep not for the seraph that bends

With the worshiping chorus on high.

2 Weep not for the spirit now crowned

With the garland to martyrdom given,

O weep not for him; he has found

His reward and his refuge in heaven.

3 But weep for their sorrows, who stand

And lament o’er the dead by his grave—

Who sigh when they muse on the land

Of their home, far away o’er the wave.

4 And weep for the nations that dwell

Where the light of the truth never shone,

Where anthems of praise never swell,

And the love of the Lamb is unknown.

5 Weep not for the saint that ascends

To partake of the joys of the sky;

Weep not for the seraph that bends

With the worshiping chorus on high:

6 But weep for the mourners who stand

By the grave of their brother, in tears,

And weep for the people whose land

Still must wait till the day-spring appears.

What’s this that steals upon my frame?

Is it death?

That soon will quench this vital flame?

Is it death?

If this be death, I soon shall be

From every pain and sorrow free,

I shall my Lord in glory see—

All is well!

2 Weep not, my friends, weep not for me,

All is well!

My sins are pardoned, I am free;

All is well.

There’s not a cloud that doth arise,

To hide my Saviour from my eyes;

I soon shall mount the upper skies—

All is well.

3 Tune, tune your harps, ye saints in glory,

All is well;

I will rehearse the pleasing story,

All is well.

Bright angels have from glory come,

They’re round my bed, they’re in my room,

They wait to waft my spirit home—

All is well.

4 Hark, hark, my Lord and Master calls me,

All is well;

I soon shall see his face in glory,

All is well.

Farewell, dear friends, adieu, adieu,

I can no longer stay with you—

My glittering crown appears in view;

All is well.

5 Hail, hail, all hail, ye blood-washed throng,

Saved by grace;

I’ve come to join your rapturous song,

Saved by grace.

All, all is peace and joy divine,

All heaven and glory now are mine;

O, hallelujah to the Lamb!

All is well.

O think that, while you’re weeping here,

His hand a golden harp is stringing;

And with a voice serene and clear,

His ransomed soul, without a tear,

His Saviour’s praise is singing!

2 And think that all his pains are fled,

His toils and sorrows closed for ever;

While he, whose blood for man was shed,

Has placed upon his servant’s head

A crown that fadeth never!

3 For thus, while round your lowly bier

Surviving friends are sadly bending,

Your souls, like his, to Jesus dear,

Shall wing their flight to yonder sphere,

Faith lightest pinions lending.

4 And thus, when to the silent tomb,

Your lifeless dust like his is given,

Like faith shall whisper, ’midst the gloom,

That yet again in faithful bloom,

That dust shall smile in heaven!

There is a calm for those who weep,

A rest for weary pilgrims found;

They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,

Low in the ground.

2 The storm that racks the wintery sky

No more disturbs their deep repose,

Than summer evening’s latest sigh,

That shuts the rose.

3 Thou traveler in this vale of tears,

To realms of everlasting light,

Through time’s dark wilderness of years,

Pursue thy flight.

4 Whate’er thy lot—whate’er thou be—

Confess thy folly—kiss the rod;

And in thy chastening sorrows see

The hand of God.

5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,

Condemned in wretchedness to roam,

Thou soon shalt reach a sheltering port,

A quiet home.

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 earthly help and power

Are all in vain,

When spears, and shield, and crown,

In faintness are cast down,

Do thou sustain.

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 Trembling 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.

As flows the rapid river,

With channel broad and free,

Its waters rippling ever,

And hastening to the sea;

So life is onward flowing,

And days of offered peace,

And man is swiftly going

Where calls of mercy cease.

2 As moons are ever waning,

As hastes the sun away,

As stormy winds, complaining,

Bring on the wintery day:

So fast the night comes o’er us—

The darkness of the grave;

The death is just before us;

God takes the life he gave.

3 Say, hath thy heart its treasure

Laid up in worlds above?

And is it all thy pleasure

Thy God to praise and love?

Beware lest death’s dark river

Its billows o’er thee roll,

And thou lament for ever

The ruin of thy soul.

Alas! how poor and little worth

Are all those glittering toys of earth

That lure us here!

Dreams of a sleep that death must break:

Alas! before it bids us wake,

They disappear.

2 Where is the strength that spurned decay,

The step that rolled so light and gay,

The heart’s blithe tone?

The strength is gone, the step is slow,

And joy grows weariness and woe

When age comes on.

3 Our birth is but a starting-place;

Life is the running of the race,

And death the goal:

There all those glittering toys are brought;

That path alone, of all unsought,

Is found of all.

4 O, let the soul its slumbers break,

Arouse its senses, and awake

To see how soon

Life, like its glories, glides away,

And the stern footsteps of decay

Come stealing on.

Friend after friend departs;

Who hath not lost a friend?

There is no union here of hearts,

That finds not here an end?

Were this frail world our only rest,

Living or dying, none were blest.

2 Beyond the flight of time,

Beyond this vale of death,

There surely is some blesséd clime,

Where life is not a breath,

Nor life’s affections transient fire,

Whose sparks fly upward to expire,

3 There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown;

A whole eternity of love,

Formed for the good alone;

And faith beholds the dying here

Translated to that happier sphere.

4 Thus star by star declines,

Till all are passed away,

As morning high and higher shines

To pure and perfect day;

Nor sink those stars in empty night;

They hide themselves in heaven’s own light.

When the spark of life is waning,

Weep not for me;

When the languid eye is streaming,

Weep not for me;

When the feeble pulse is ceasing,

Start not at its swift decreasing,

’Tis the fettered soul’s releasing,

Weep not for me.

2 When the pangs of death assail me,

Weep not for me;

Christ is mine, he can not fail me,

Weep not for me;

Yes, though sin and doubt endeavor,

From his love my soul to sever,

Jesus is my strength for ever;

Weep not for me.

No, no, it is not dying

To go unto our God,

This gloomy earth forsaking,

Our journey homeward taking

Along the starry road.

2 No, no, it is not dying

Heaven’s citizen to be,

A crown immortal wearing,

And rest unbroken sharing,

From care and conflict free.

3 No, no, it is not dying

The Shepherd’s voice to know;

His sheep he ever leadeth,

His peaceful flock he feedeth,

Where living pastures grow.

4 No, no, it is not dying

To wear a heavenly crown,

Among God’s people dwelling,

The glorious triumph swelling,

Of him whose sway we own.

5 O no, this is not dying,

Thou Saviour of mankind;

There, streams of love are flowing,

No hindrance ever knowing;

Here, only drops we find.

Thou God of love! beneath thy sheltering wings

We leave our holy dead,

To rest in hope! From this world’s sufferings

Their souls have fled!

2 O! when our souls are burdened with the weight

Of life, and all its woes,

Let us remember them, and calmly wait

For our life’s close!

Go to thy rest in peace,

And soft be thy repose;

Thy toils are o’er, thy troubles cease;

From earthly cares, in sweet release,

Thine eyelids gently close.

2 Go to thy peaceful rest;

For thee we need not weep,

Since thou art now among the blest—

No more by sin and sorrow pressed,

But hushed in quiet sleep.

3 Go to thy rest; and while

Thy absence we deplore,

One thought our sorrow shall beguile;

For soon, with a celestial smile,

We meet to part no more.

Away from his home and the friends of his youth,

He hasted, the herald of mercy and truth,

For the love of his Lord, and to seek for the lost:

Soon, alas! was his fall—but he died at his post.

2 The stranger’s eye wept, that, in life’s brightest bloom,

One gifted so highly should sink to the tomb;

For in ardor he led in the van of the host,

And he fell like a soldier—he died at his post.

3 He wept not himself that his warfare was done—

The battle was fought, and the victory won;

But he whispered of those whom his heart clung to most,

“Tell my brethren, for me, that I died at my post.”

4 He asked not a stone to be sculptured with verse;

He asked not that fame should his merits rehearse;

But he asked as a boon, when he gave up the ghost,

That his brethren might know that he died at his post.

5 Victorious his fall—for he rose as he fell,

With Jesus, his Master, in glory to dwell:

He has passed o’er the stream, and has reached the bright coast,

For he fell like a martyr—he died at his post.

6 And can we the words of his exit forget?

O! no; they are fresh in our memory yet:

An example so worthy shall never be lost,

We will fall in the work—we will die at our post.

Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee,

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb:

The Saviour has passed through its portals before thee,

And the lamp of his love is thy guide thro’ the gloom.

2 Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may hope, since the Saviour has died.

3 Thou art gone to the grave; and its mansion forsaking,

Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lingered long;

But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,

And the sound thou didst hear was the seraphim’s song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee;

Since God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian, thy Guide;

He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee;

And death has no sting, since the Saviour has died.

Christian, the vision before thee is glorious,

The earth shall allure thy tried spirit no more:

Thou wast in the day of thy trial victorious,

Secure now at last, thy temptations are o’er.

2 Hard was the strife, but the strong one in battle,

Has been thy defender, and vanquished thy foes;

And heaven stood by thee to help thee in trouble,

And joyed when the sound of thy triumph arose.

3 High was the anthem those raptures revealing,

Ten thousand celestials the chorus prolong;

But louder the strains of the ransomed are pealing,

And glory is swelling the conqueror’s song.

Far, far o’er hill and dale, on the winds stealing,

List to the tolling bell, mournfully pealing,

Hark, hark, it seems to say, as melt those sounds away,

So earthly joys decay, while new their feeling!

2 Now through the charméd air, on the winds stealing,

List to the mourner’s prayer, solemnly bending:

Hark, hark, it seems to say, turn from those joys away,

To those which ne’er decay, for life is ending.

3 So when our mortal ties death shall dissever,

Lord, may we reach the skies where care comes never,

And in eternal day, joining the angels’ lay,

To our Creator pay homage for ever.