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Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not
deplore thee, Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and
guide; He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore
thee, And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died.*
* The following stanzas were written as an addition to the above hymn, by an English clergyman, on hearing of the decease of the author.
Thou art gone to the grave; and whole nations
bemoan thee, Who caught from thy lips the glad tidings of
peace : Yet grateful, they still in their hearts shall en.
throne thee, And ne'er shall thy name from their memo
Thou art gone to the grave; but thy work shall
not perish, That work which the spirit of wisdom hath blest; His strength shall sustain it, his comforts shall
cherish, And make it to prosper, though thou art at rest.
ON RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS
0, Saviour of the faithful dead,
With whom thy servants dwell, Though cold and green the turf is spread
Above their narrow cell,
No more we cling to mortal clay,
We doubt and fear no more,
Which thou hast trod before.
'T was hard from those I loved to go,
Who knelt around my bed, Whose tears bedewed my burning brow,
Whose arms upheld my head.
As fading from my dizzy view,
I sought their forms in vain, The bitterness of death I knew,
And groaned to live again.
’T was dreadful, when th' accuser's power
Assailed my sinking heart, Recounting every wasted hour,
And each unworthy part:
But, Jesus, in that mortal fray,
Thy blessed comfort stole, Like sunshine in a stormy day,
Across my darkened soul.
When soon or late this feeble breath
No more to thee shall pray,
And in the darksome way.
When clothed in fleshly weeds again
I wait thy dread decree,
That thou hast died for me.