CCCII. Comfort on the Death of pious Friends

TRansporting Tidings which we hear!
What Musick to the pious Ear!
Christ loves each humble Saint so well,
He with his Lord shall ever dwell.

Blest Jesus, Source of ev'ry Grace,
From far to view thy smiling Face,
While absent thus by Faith we live,
Exceeds all Joys, that Earth can give.

But O! what Extacy unknown
Fills the wide Circle round thy Throne,
Where ev'ry rapt'rous Hour appears
Nobler than Millions of our Years!

Millions by Millions multiplied
Shall ne'er thy Saints from thee divide;
But the bright Legions live and praise
Thro' all thine own immortal Days.

O happy Dead, in Thee that sleep,
While o'er their mould'ring Dust we weep!
O faithful Saviour, who shalt come
That Dust to ransom from the Tomb!

While thine unerring Word imparts
So rich a Cordial to our Hearts,
Thro' Tears our Triumphs shall be shown,
Tho' round their Graves, and near our own.