Book of Hymns for Public and Private Devotion Part 55

Blessed Are They That Mourn.

1 Deem not that they are blest alone Whose days a peaceful tenor keep; The G.o.d who loves our race has shown A blessing for the eyes that weep.

2 The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that now o'erflow with tears, And weary hours of woe and pain Are earnests of serener years.

3 O, there are days of hope and rest For every dark and troubled night!

And grief may bide, an evening guest, But joy shall come with morning light.

4 And ye, who o'er a friend's low bier Now shed the bitter drops like rain, Know that a brighter, happier sphere Will give him to your arms again.

327. L. M. Norton.

My G.o.d, I Thank Thee!

1 My G.o.d, I thank Thee! may no thought E'er deem Thy chastis.e.m.e.nts severe; But may this heart, by sorrow taught, Calm each wild wish, each idle fear.

2 Thy mercy bids all nature bloom; The sun s.h.i.+nes bright, and man is gay; Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom That darkens o'er his little day.

3 Full many a throb of grief and pain Thy frail and erring child must know; But not one prayer is breathed in vain, Nor does one tear unheeded flow.

4 Thy various messengers employ; Thy purposes of love fulfil; And, 'mid the wreck of human joy, Let kneeling faith adore Thy will.

328. L. M. Doddridge.

Weeping Seedtime; Joyful Harvest.

1 The darkened sky, how thick it lowers!

Troubled with storms, and big with showers, No cheerful gleam of light appears, But nature pours forth all her tears.

2 Yet let the sons of G.o.d revive; He bids the soul that seeks Him live, And from the gloomiest shade of night Calls forth a morning of delight.

3 The seeds of ecstasy unknown Are in these watered furrows sown; See the green blades, how thick they rise, And with fresh verdure bless our eyes!

4 In secret foldings they contain Unnumbered ears of golden grain; And heaven shall pour its beams around, Till the ripe harvest load the ground.

5 Then shall the trembling mourner come, And bind his sheaves, and bear them home, The voice long broke with sighs shall sing, Till heaven with hallelujahs ring.

329. L. M. N. Y. Coll.

Affliction, G.o.d's Angel.

1 Affliction's faded form draws nigh, With wrinkled brow and downcast eye; With sackcloth on her bosom spread, And ashes scattered o'er her head.

2 But deem her not a child of earth; From heaven she draws her sacred birth; Beside the throne of G.o.d she stands To execute his kind commands.

3 The messenger of love, she flies To train us for our sphere, the skies; And onward as we move, the way Becomes more smooth, more bright the day.

4 Her weeds to robes of glory turn, Her looks with kindling radiance burn; And from her lips these accents steal,-- "G.o.d smites to bless, he wounds to heal!"

330. 10s. M. *Mrs. Howitt.

In Affliction.

1 Thou that art strong to comfort, look on me!

I sit in darkness and behold no light; Over my soul the waves of agony Have gone, and left me in a rayless night.

2 A bruised and broken reed sustain! sustain!

Divinest Comforter, to Thee I fly, To whom no soul hath ever fled in vain; Support me with thy love, or else I die.

3 Father, what'er I had, it all was thine; A G.o.d of mercy Thou hast ever been; O, help me what I most loved to resign, And if I murmur, count it not for sin.

4 My soul is strengthened now, and it shall bear All that remains, whatever it may be; And from the very depths of my despair I will look up, O G.o.d, and trust in Thee!

331. C. M. *Barton.

At Evening There Shall Be Light.

1 Our pathway oft is wet with tears, Our sky with clouds o'ercast, And worldly cares and worldly fears Go with us to the last;-- Not to the last! G.o.d's word hath said, Could we but read aright: O pilgrim! lift in hope thy head, At eve it shall be light!

2 Though earth-born shadows now may shroud Our toilsome path a while, G.o.d's blessed word can part each cloud, And bid the suns.h.i.+ne smile.

If we but trust in living faith, His love and power divine, Then, though our sun may set in death, His light shall round us s.h.i.+ne.

3 When tempest-clouds are dark on high, His bow of love and peace s.h.i.+nes beauteous in the vaulted sky, Token that storms shall cease.

Then keep we on, with hope unchilled, By faith and not by sight, And we shall own his word fulfilled,-- "At eve it shall be light."