For their dead, the heathen mourning

For their dead, the heathen mourning
No relief like this can have,
Hopeless of their late returning
From the all-devouring grave:
But the God of consolation
Whispers better things to me,
I shall share the full salvation,
I the church above shall see.

Though my flesh and spirit languish,
Can I of my lot complain!
Sure at last to' outhve the anguish,
Sure to find my friend again:
Ransom'd from a world of sorrow,
He to-day is taken home,
I shall be released to-morrow;
Come, my full Redeemer, come!

In the kingdom of Thy patience
Well Thou know'st I daily die;
Out of mighty tribulations
Take me up to rest on high;
From my sanctified distresses
Now, or when Thou wilt, retrieve;
Grant me but in Thine embraces
After all my deaths to live.