Nearer home. NE sweetly solemn thought I'm nearer home to-day, Than I ever have been before. Nearer my Father's house, Where the many mansions be; Nearer the great white throne; Nearer the crystal sea― Nearer the bound of life, Where we lay our burdens down; Nearer leaving the cross; Nearer gaining the crown. But lying darkly between, Winding down through the night, Is the dim and unknown stream That leads at last to the light. Closer, closer, my feet Come to that dark abysm; Closer, death to my lips Presses the awful chrysm Saviour, perfect my trust, Strengthen the might of my faith; Let me feel as I would when I stand On the rock of the shore of death. Feel as I would when my feet Nearer now than I think. Carey. A Death-bed Hymn. E would see Jesus"-for the shadows lengthen For the last weariness, the final strife. "We would see Jesus"-for life's hand hath rested With its dark touch upon both heart and brow; And though our souls have many a billow breasted, Others are rising in the distance now. "We would see Jesus"-the great rock foundation, "We would see Jesus"-other lights are paling, Which for long years we have rejoiced to see; The blessings of our pilgrimage are failing, We would not mourn them, for we go to Thee. "We would see Jesus"-yet the spirit lingers Round the dear objects it has loved so long; And earth from earth can scarce unclose its fingers, "We would see Jesus"-sense is all too blinding, "We would see Jesus"-this is all we're needing; Strength, joy, and willingness come with the sight: "We would see Jesus," dying, risen, pleading; Then welcome day! and farewell mortal night. The Sleep of Death. ALM on the bosom of thy God, E'en while with us thy footstep trod, Dust, to its narrow house beneath! Soul, to its place on high! They who have seen thy look in death Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers, In heaven, is now thine own. Hemans. "She is not dead, but sleepeth." The baby wept; LUKE viii, 52. The mother took it from the nurse's arms And soothed its grief, and stilled its vain alarms, And baby slept. Again it weeps; And God doth take it from the mother's arms, Hinds. Heaven. H talk to me of heaven, I love To hear about my home above, For there doth many a loved one dwell, Oh tell me how they shine and sing, Tell me of that celestial calm Oh happy, happy country, where And death who keeps the portals fair No grief can change their day to night, This is the home, the land of birth The storms that rack this world beneath Shall there for ever cease, The only air the blessed breathe Is purity and peace. Oh may heaven's gate unclose to me, Oh may I too its glories see, And my faint, fighting spirit stand |