Abbey with Hark! a voice divides the sky and Come, every joyful heart

  Hark!  a voice divides the sky,-
  Happy are the faithful dead!
In the Lord who sweetly die,
  They from all their toils are freed:
Them the Spirit hath declared
  Blest, unutterably blest;
Jesus is their great reward,
  Jesus is their endless rest.

  Followed by their works they go,
  Where their Head is gone before;
Reconciled by grace below,
  Grace hath opened mercy’s door;
Justified through faith alone,
  Here they knew their sins forgiven,
Here they laid their burden down,
  Hallowed and made meet for heaven.

  Who can now lament the lot
  Of a saint in Christ deceased?
Let the world, who know us not,
  Call us hopeless and unblest;
When from flesh the spirit freed
  Hastens homeward to return,
Mortals cry, “A man is dead!”
  Angels sing, “A child is born!”

  Born into the world above,
  They our happy brother greet;
Bear him to the throne of love,
  Place him at the Saviour’s feet:
Jesus smiles, and says, “Well done!
  Good and faithful servant thou!
Enter, and receive thy crown;
  Reign with me triumphant now.”

Charles Wesley
Come, every joyful heart,
  That loves the Saviour’s name!
Your noblest powers exert,
  To celebrate His fame;
Tell all above, and all below,
  The debt of love to Him we owe,

He left His starry crown,
  And laid His robes aside;
On wings of love came down,
  And wept, and bled, and died;
What He endured no tongue can tell,
  To save our souls from death and hell.

From the dark grave He rose-
  The mansion of the dead;
And thence His mighty foes
  In glorious triumph led;
Up thro’ the sky the Conqueror rode,
  And reigns on high the Saviour God.

From thence, He’ll quickly come-
  His chariot will not stay-
And bear our spirits home
  To realms of endless day;
There shall we see His lovely face,
  And ever be in His embrace.

Samuel Stennet

Black-eyed Susans with Jesus, while our hearts are bleeding and Arise, my soul, arise

  Jesus, while our hearts are bleeding
  O’er the spoils that death has won,
We would, at this solemn meeting,
  Calmly say, “Thy will be done.”

  Though cast down, we’re not forsaken;
  Though afflicted, not alone:
Thou didst give, and thou hast taken;
  Blessed Lord, “Thy will be done.”

  Though to-day we’re filled with mourning,
  Mercy still is on the throne;
With thy smiles of love returning,
  We can sing, “Thy will be done.”

  By thy hands the boon was given;
  Thou hast taken but thine own:
Lord of earth, and God of heaven,
  Evermore, “Thy will be done.”

Thomas Hastings


Arise, my soul, arise;
Shake off thy guilty fears;
The bleeding sacrifice
In my behalf appears;
Before the throne my Surety stands,
Before the throne my Surety stands,
My name is written on His hands.

He ever lives above,
For me to intercede;
His all redeeming love,
His precious blood to plead;
His blood atoned for all our race,
His blood atoned for all our race,
And sprinkles now the throne of grace.

Five bleeding wounds He bears,
Received on Calvary;
They pour effectual prayers,
They strongly plead for me;
Forgive him, oh, forgive, they cry,
Forgive him, oh, forgive, they cry,
Nor let that ransomed sinner die.

My God is reconciled;
His pard’ning voice I hear;
He owns me for His child;
I can no longer fear;
With confidence I now draw nigh,
With confidence I now draw nigh,
And Father, Abba, Father, cry.

Ch. Wesley

Blue Hobnail Vase, Peonies, and Mirror with The precious seed of weeping and

  The precious seed of weeping
  To-day we sow once more,
The form of one now sleeping,
  Whose pilgrimage is o’er.
Ah!  death but safely lands him
  Where we too would attain;
Our Father’s voice demands him,
  And death to him is gain.

  He has what we were wanting,
  He sees what we believe;
The sins on earth so haunting
  Have there no power to grieve:
Safe in his Saviour’s keeping,
  Who sent him calm release,-
‘Tis only we are weeping,-
  He dwells in perfect peace.

  The crown of life he weareth,
  He bears the shining palm,
The “Holy, holy,” shareth,
  And joins the angels’ psalm;
But we, poor pilgrims, wander
  Still through this land of woe
Till we shall meet him yonder,
  And all his joy shall know.

Carl J. P. Spitta  Translated by Miss C. Winkworth

Come, said Jesus’ sacred voice
Come, and make My paths your choice;
I will guide you to your home,
Weary pilgrim, hither come!

Thou who, homeless, sole, forlorn,
Long hast borne the proud world’s scorn,
Long hast roamed the barren waste,
Weary pilgrim, hither haste.

Ye who, tossed on beds of pain,
Seek for ease, but seek in vain;
Ye, by fiercer anguish torn,
In remorse for guilt who mourn;-

Hither come! for here is found
Balm that flows for every wound,
Peace that ever shall endure,
Rest eternal, sacred, sure.

Ann L. Barbauld

Cosmos, Butterfly Bush Blooms and Peonies with Weep not for a brother deceased and It may be at morn, when the day is awaking

  Weep not for a brother deceased,
  Our loss is his infinite gain;
A soul out of prison released,
  And freed from its bodily chain;
With songs let us follow his flight,
  And mount with his spirit above,
Escaped to the mansions of light,
  And lodged in the Eden of love.

  Our brother the haven hath gained,
  Out-flying the tempest and wind;
His rest he hath sooner obtained,
  And left his companions behind,
Still tossed on a sea of distress,
  Hard toiling to make the blest shore,
Where all is assurance and peace,
  And sorrow and sin are no more.

  There all the ship’s company meet,
  Who sailed with the Saviour beneath;
With shouting each other they greet,
  And triumph o’er sorrow and death:
The voyage of life’s at an end;
  The mortal affliction is past;
The age that in heaven they spend,
  Forever and ever shall last.

Charles Wesley
It may be at morn, when the day is awaking,
When sunlight thro’ darkness and shadow is breaking,
That Jesus will come in the fullness of glory,
     To receive from the world “His own.”

It may be at mid-day, it may be at twilight,
It may be, perchance, that the blackness of midnight
Will burst into light in the blaze of His glory,
     When Jesus receives “His own.”

While its hosts cry Hosanna, from heaven descending,
With glorified saints and the angels attending,
With grace on His brow, like a halo of glory,
     Will Jesus receive “His own.”

Oh, joy! oh, delight! should we go without dying,
No sickness, no sadness, no dread and no crying,
Caught up thro’ the clouds with our Lord into glory,
     When Jesus receives “His own.”

Chorus
O Lord Jesus, how long, how long
Ere we shout the glad song,
Christ returneth;
Hallelujah! hallelujah!  Amen, Hallelujah! Amen.

H. L. Turner

Hollyhocks with Man dieth and wasteth away and

  Man dieth and wasteth away,
  And where is he?-Hark!  from the skies,
I hear a voice answer and say,
  “The spirit of man never dies!
His body, which came from the earth,
  Must mingle again with the sod;
His soul, which in heaven had birth,
  Returns to the bosom of God.”

  No terror has death, or the grave,
  To those who believe in the Lord,
Who know the Redeemer can save,
  And lean on the faith of his word:
While ashes to ashes, and dust
  We give unto dust, in our gloom,
The light of salvation we trust,
  Which hangs like a lamp in the tomb.

  O Lord God Almighty!  to thee
  We turn, as our solace above;
The waters may fail from the sea,
  But never thy fountains of love:
O teach us thy will to obey,
  And sing with one heart and accord,
“He gave, and he taketh away,
  And praised be the name of the Lord.”

George P. Morris
When Jesus comes to reward His servants,
Whether it be noon or night,
Faithful to Him will He find us watching,
With our lamps all trimm’d and bright?

If at the dawn of the early morning,
He shall call us one by one,
When to the Lord we restore our talents,
Will He answer thee- Well done?

Have we been true to the trust He left us?
Do we seek to do our best?
If in our hearts there is naught condemns us,
We shall have a glorious rest.

Blessed are those whom the Lord finds watching,
In His glory they shall share;
If He shall come at the dawn or midnight,
Will He find us watching there?

Refrain
Oh, can we say we are ready, brother?
Ready for the soul’s bright home?
Say, will He find you and me still watching,
Waiting, waiting when the Lord shall come?

Fanny J. Crosby

My Cat with O’er the distant mountains breaking and I look to Thee in every need

  O’er the distant mountains breaking,
  Comes the reddening dawn of day;
Rise, my soul, from sleep awaking,
  Rise, and sing, and watch, and pray:
    ‘Tis thy Saviour,
  On his bright returning way.

  O thou long-expected, weary
  Waits my anxious soul for thee;
Life is dark, and earth is dreary
  Where thy light I do not see:
    O my Saviour,
  When wilt thou return to me?

  Long, too long, in sin and sadness,
  Far away from thee I pine;
When, O when, shall I the gladness
  Of thy Spirit feel in mine?
    O my Saviour,
  When shall I be wholly thine?

  Nearer is my soul’s salvation,
  Spent the night, the day at hand;
Keep me in my lowly station,
  Watching for thee, till I stand,
    O my Saviour,
  In thy bright and promised land.

  With my lamp well trimmed and burning,
  Swift to hear, and slow to roam,
Watching for thy glad returning
  To restore me to my home;
    Come, my Saviour,
  O my Saviour, quickly come!

John S. B. Monsell
I look to Thee in every need,
  And never look in vain;
I feel Thy strong and tender love,
  And all is well again:
The thought of Thee is mightier far
  Than sin, and pain, and sorrow are.

Discouraged in the work of life,
  Disheartened by its load,
Shamed by its failures or its fears,
  I sink beside the road;
But let me only think of Thee,
  And then new heart springs up in me.
 
Thy calmness bends serene above,
  My restlessness to still;
Around me flows Thy quickening life,
  To nerve my faltering will:
Thy presence fills my solitude;
  Thy providence turns all to good.

Embosomed deep in Thy dear love,
  Held in Thy law, I stand;
Thy hand in all things I behold,
  And all things in Thy hand;
Thou leadest me by unsought ways,
  And turn’st my mourning into praise. Amen

Samuel Longfellow

Morning Glories, Chicory, and Butterfly with Look for the beautiful, look for the true and Have faith in God, what can there be

Sunshine and shadow are all around you;
Looking at evil we grope in the night,
Looking at Jesus we walk in the light,
Look for the beautiful, honor the right.

Think of the beautiful, think of the true,
Tho’ts like an avalanche sweep over you;
Keep not the multitude, sort them with care,
Testing by purity, purging by pray’r;
Think of the beautiful, think of the fair.

Talk of the beautiful, talk of the true;
Tongues full of poison are whisp’ring to you;
Answer them not with a talebearing word,
Only in blessing the voice should be heard;
Talk of the beautiful, talk of thy Lord.

Live for the beautiful, live for the true,
Lifting the fallen as Christ lifted you;
Search for the jewels imbedded in sin,
Bring them to Jesus, His blood washes clean;
Live for the beautiful, keep love within.

F. E. Belden
Have faith in God; what can there be
For Him too hard to do for thee?
He gave His Son; now all is free;
Have faith, have faith in God.

Have faith thy pardon to believe,
Let God’s own word thy fears relieve;
Have faith the Spirit to receive;
Have faith, have faith in God.

Have faith in God, and trust His might
That He will conquer as you fight,
And give the triumph to the right;
Have faith, have faith in God.

Have faith in God; press near His side;
Thy troubled soul trust Him to guide;
In life, in death, whate’er betide,
Have faith, have faith in God.

El. Nathan