Hymn 391. A Funeral Hymn

While to the grave our friends are borne,

Around their cold remains

How all the tender passions mourn,

And each fond heart complains!

But down to earth, alas, in vain

We bend our weeping eyes;

Ah! let us leave these seats of pain,

And upward learn to rise.

Hope cheerful smiles amid the gloom,

And beams a healing ray,

And guides us from the darksome tomb,

To realms of endless day.

Jesus, who left his blest abode,

(Amazing grace!) to die,

Mark’d when he rose the shining road

To his bright courts on high.

To those bright courts when Hope ascends,

The tears forget to flow;

Hope views our absent happy friends,

And calms the swelling woe.

Then let our hearts repine no more,

That earthly comfort dies,

But lasting happiness explore,

And ask it from the skies.

Collection of Hymns Adapted to Public Worship, no. 391 (all six stanzas); Poems, 1780, vol. 1, pp. 74-5; MS, Steele Collection, Angus Library, Regents Park College, STE 3/1/1 no. 37; also Nonconformist Women Writers, vol. 1, p. 83.