152
poems.
No night is there. The King of kings
The uncreated day-beam brings.
He bids the tear of grief be dry
And hushed the anguished spirit's sigh.
Death may not tread the courts above,
Where all is peace and perfect love.
The uncreated day-beam brings.
He bids the tear of grief be dry
And hushed the anguished spirit's sigh.
Death may not tread the courts above,
Where all is peace and perfect love.
Our Father! Thou whose sovereign will
Can bid grief's gushing tide "be still!"
Whose voice recalls the gifts it sent,—
The blessings which thy mercy lent!
Whose name we own, the Good! the Just!
Whose love renews our sinking trust!—
Can bid grief's gushing tide "be still!"
Whose voice recalls the gifts it sent,—
The blessings which thy mercy lent!
Whose name we own, the Good! the Just!
Whose love renews our sinking trust!—
"Thy will be done!" We may not scan
The dealings of Thy hand to man.
Secure in Thee whose goodness sheds
Its daily mercies o'er our heads;
We bow to Thee, Eternal One!
And humbly breathe, "Thy will be done!"
The dealings of Thy hand to man.
Secure in Thee whose goodness sheds
Its daily mercies o'er our heads;
We bow to Thee, Eternal One!
And humbly breathe, "Thy will be done!"
Then let the eye no longer weep,
But fixed in view the promise keep.
Gird we the armor to the breast,
To follow where their feet have pressed.
So may we tread the path they trod,—
The path to heaven, to bliss, to God.
But fixed in view the promise keep.
Gird we the armor to the breast,
To follow where their feet have pressed.
So may we tread the path they trod,—
The path to heaven, to bliss, to God.
