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.
1085 P. M. Present with the Lord. 2 Cor. 5:8.
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!
1086 8s & 4s. There remaineth a rest. Heb. 4:9.
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.
1087 6s & 4s. Forsake me not, etc. Psalm 71:9.
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.
1088 7s & 6s. All the rivers run into the sea. Eccl. 1:7.
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.
1089 8s & 4s. As a dream, when one awaketh. Psalm 73:20.
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.