On the Loss of His Emends, Hymn 3

Disconsolate tenant of clay,
In solemn assurance arise,
Thy treasure of sorrow survey,
And look through it all to the skies:
That heavenly house is prepared
For all who are sufferers here,
And wait the return of their Lord,
And long for His day to appear.

Who suffer in Jesus's shame,
Shall triumph in Jesus's love:
A child of affliction I claim
My sure habitation above;
My seal of election is this,
His marks in my body I bear;
My fulness of infinite bliss,
My crown of rejoicing is there.

There all the tempestuous blast
Of bitter affliction is o'er,
The spirit is landed at last,
And sorrow and shame are no more,
Temptation and trouble are gone,
The trial is all at an end —
And there I shall cease to bemoan
The loss of my brother, and friend.

Tis there I shall meet him again
Whose burden through life I must bear,
No longer the cause of my pain,
No longer a fugitive there:
Here only the world could divide,
Here only the tempter could part,
And turn the unwary aside,
And poison the innocent heart.

Then let me with meekness attend
The word that shall summon me home,
The days of my pilgrimage end,
And bury my griefs in the tomb;
The tears shall be wiped from my eyes,
When him I behold with the blest,
Who hasten'd my soul to the skies,
And follow'd me into my rest.