Oft, by the silent tomb,
Where grief is darkly bending,
Breaks through the fearful gloom,
This hope, from heaven descending,-
Those forms once fair,
That slumber there,
The bonds of death shall sever;
Those eyes once bright,
Now sealed in night,
Shall wake and smile forever.
Thus by the silent tomb, etc.
O, when we meet again
The friends that moulder round us,
Freed from each darkling chain
Of grief, on earth that bound us,-
Each parting knell,
Each tear that fell,
HYMN 497.
Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Remembrance brings the light
Of love divine around me.
The still small voice,
Bids me rejoice,
In words of comfort spoken;
And o'er life's track,
My mind looks back,
To promises ne'er broken.
Thus in the stilly night, etc.
When humbly I recall
The tokens of his favour,
I see in him, of all
The Father, Friend and Saviour,-
And feel that he
Whose love to me.
Dear friend of friendless sinners, hear,
And magnify thy grace divine;
Forgive a worm that would draw near,
That would his heart to thee resign.
A worm, by self and sin opprest,
Who pants to reach thy PROMISED REST.
With holy fear and reverend love,
I long to lie beneath thy throne:
I long in thee to live and move,
And stay myself on thee alone:
Teach me to lean upon thy breast,
To find in thee THE PROMISED REST.
Should pain and sickness o'er me throw
Their pallid forms of wasting woe,-
Should friends forsake me, and depart,
With none to cheer my drooping heart,
I'd bow submissive to thy will,
And tho' thou slay me, trust thee still.
Should scorn and hatred point the dart,
Should falsehood reach the vital part,
Composed my ruined hopes I'd view,
And trust in thee to bear me through:
I'd bow in meekness to thy will,
And tho' thou slay me, trust thee still.
Thou say'st thou wilt thy servants keep Should want, with all her meagre train,
In perfect peace, whose minds shall be Bring in the sad reverse of pain,-
Like new born babes, or helpless sheep, My Saviour bowed to know the strife,
Completely stay'd, dear Lord, on thee: And rose above the ills of life;
How calm their state, how truly blest, To that great pattern bows my will,
Who trust in thee, the PROMISED REST. And tho' thou slay me, trusts thee still.
Take me, my Saviour, as thine own,
O Father, thou art good and just,
The voice of free-grace, from the Lord's holy mountain,
Inviteth our race to the life-giving fountain.
The fountain that bursteth becometh a river,
And he who now thirsteth, may drink and thirst never,
For freely it floweth-and floweth for ever.
Still soundeth the voice!-'tis the voice of the Saviour,
That biddeth rejoice in his full and free favor.
The might of his spirit from sin shall deliver,
And we shall inherit his blessing forever:
The fountain of mercy in him faileth never.
We'll love him the more when life's journey is over,
or of his grace shall discover.
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