On the Death of Thomas Beard, Hymn 12

To Thee, the true eternal Light,
At this awful noon of night,
Our longing souls ascend;
For Thee we watch, for Thee we pray,
And hasten to the joyful day
When all our toils shall end.

The joyful day we soon shall see,
With no sad obscurity
Attended, or pursued;
No dark eclipse shall intervene,
Nor gloomy grief pollute the scene,
Or stain the day of God.

The day of God shall then be ours,
Number'd with the angel-powers,
And souls on earth forgiven,
We in the New Jerusalem
Shall all our happy mansions claim,
The citizens of heaven.

We all shall see the golden blaze
Of that high and lofty place,
And breathe the purpled air:
It needs nor sun, nor candle's light,
Divinely fair, Divinely bright,
For Christ the Lamb is there.

By faith we now the veil look through,
Now a glimpse of glory view,
And bless the opening ray;
Far, far above all height we soar,
The depths of Deity to' explore
In everlasting day.