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238
FUNERAL HYMN.
How frail is man! his earliest breath
Is but the promise sure of death;
From being's dawn, to darkling age,
The grave his certain heritage!
Is but the promise sure of death;
From being's dawn, to darkling age,
The grave his certain heritage!
We sink like drops of summer showers;
As grass we 're mown,—we 're plucked as flowers:
We fall like autumn's yellow leaves,—
Are garnered in like whitened sheaves.
As grass we 're mown,—we 're plucked as flowers:
We fall like autumn's yellow leaves,—
Are garnered in like whitened sheaves.
But Christ hath slumbered in the tomb!
His entering hallowed all its gloom:
Where he unbarred its rocky doors,
The risen Conqueror's glory pours.
His entering hallowed all its gloom:
Where he unbarred its rocky doors,
The risen Conqueror's glory pours.
Whilst thus our dust to dust returns,
As odors rise while incense burns,
The spirit triumphs o'er decay;
Recalled to God, it soars away.
As odors rise while incense burns,
The spirit triumphs o'er decay;
Recalled to God, it soars away.
In thy calm bosom, Earth, we lay
With holy trust this kindred clay:
It comes to thy maternal breast,
Through death's cold night, in peace to rest.
With holy trust this kindred clay:
It comes to thy maternal breast,
Through death's cold night, in peace to rest.
Farewell, dear form! till morning break,
When all who sleep in death shall wake:—
Till Christ call up his saints, to dwell
With him in glory, fare thee well!
When all who sleep in death shall wake:—
Till Christ call up his saints, to dwell
With him in glory, fare thee well!
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