1155

Death of a Believer

J. Newton  C.M.

1
In vain the fancy strives to paint
The moment after death,
The glories that surround the saints,
When yielding up their breath.

2
One gentle sigh their fetters breaks;
We scarce can say, “They’re gone!”
Before the willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.

3
Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
To trace her in her flight:
No eye can pierce within the vail
Which hides that world of light.

4
Thus much (and this is all) we know,
They are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest.

5
On harps of gold they praise his name,
His face they always view;
Then let us followers be of them,
That we may praise him too.

6
Their faith and patience, love and zeal,
Should make their memory dear;
And, Lord, do thou the prayers fulfil
They offered for us here!

7
While they have gained, we losers are,
We miss them day by day;
But thou canst every breach repair,
And wipe our tears away.

8
We pray, as in Elisha’s case,
When great Elijah went,
May double portions of thy grace,
To us who stay, be sent.