On the Death of the Rev. William Grimshaw: Another

How happy the dead, Who Jesus adored!
The soldier is freed. And rests with his Lord:
His warfare is ended. His labours are o'er.
The soul is ascended. And death is no more.

The ripe shock of corn Corruption defies.
The spirit is borne To God in the skies
The partner of Jesus Looks down from above.
Lamenting he sees us With pity and love.

My father, my guide, (Our Israel xnzy say,)
Is torn from our side. Is ravish'd away!
A prophet's translation We justly deplore,
With calm lamentation And weeping adore.

Devotion in tears Expresses its love.
Till Jesus appears. Our souls to remove:
The loss of a Stephen We greatly bewail:
He triumphs in heaven; We mourn in the vale.

We mourn, but as men Rejoicing in hope.
To see him again, Together caught up;
Our great consolation. When Jesus comes down,
The heirs of salvation With glory to crown.

O Saviour, descend; No longer delay,
Our sufferings to end. And bear us away,
Where death cannot sever. Or sorrow molest,
Thy people for ever Reposed on Thy breast!