CXII. Comfort for pious Parents, who have been bereaved of their Children.

YE mourning Saints, whose streaming Tears
Flow o'er your Children dead,
Say not in Transports of Despair,
That all your Hopes are fled.

While cleaving to that darling Dust,
In fond Distress ye lie,
Rise, and with Joy and Rev'rence view
An heav'nly Parent nigh.

Tho', your young Branches torn away,
Like wither'd Trunks ye stand,
With fairer Verdure shall ye bloom,
Touch'd by th' Almighty's Hand.

"I'll give the Mourners, saith the LORD,
"In mine own House a Place;
"No Names of Daughters and of Sons
"Could yield so high a Grace.

"Transient and vain is ev'ry Hope,
"A rising Race can give;
"In endless Honour and Delight
"My Children all shall live."

We welcome, LORD, those rising Tears,
Thro' which thy Face we see,
And bless those Wounds, which thro' our Heart
Prepare a Way for Thee.