An Hymn on the Death of the Rev. George Whitefield

Servant of God, well done!
Thy glorious warfare's past,
The batde's fought, the race is won.
And thou art crown'd at last
Of all thy heart's desire
Triumphantly possess'd.
Lodged by the ministerial choir
In thy Redeemer's breast.

In condescending love
Thy ceaseless prayer He heard,
And bade thee suddenly remove
To thy complete reward:
Ready to bring the peace.
Thy beauteous feet were shod,
When mercy sign'd thy soul's release,
And caught thee up to God.

With saints enthroned on high
Thou dost thy Lord proclaim,
And still to God Salvation cry,
Salvatioji to the Lamb!
O happy, happy soul!
In ecstasies of praise.
Long as eternal ages roll
Thou seest thy Saviour's face.

Redeem'd from earth and pain,
Ah! when shall we ascend,
And all in Jesu's presence reign
With our translated friend!
Come, Lord, and quickly come!
And when in Thee complete,
Receive Thy longing servants home,
To triumph — at Thy feet!
NOVEMBER i, 1771, AGED SEVENTY-EIGHT.