LVII. ANOTHER.
Hymn 14.
[While angel choirs their harps employ]
While angel choirs their harps employ,
Strung with everlasting joy,
A stranger to receive,
Our joy with sorrow mix'd we find,
The widow'd friends he left behind,
And innocently grieve.
Stripp'd of her choicest blessing here,
Nature drops a blameless tear,
From all impatience kept:
Calm we bewail our friend removed,
As Jesus mourn'd for His beloved;
He died; and Jesus wept!
Our loss we solemnly deplore,
Not like men who hope no more
Their ravish'd friend to see,
Sure to o'ertake his parted soul,
In grief, in death, our hope is full
Of immortality.
Superior to ourselves we rise,
Struggle after to the skies,
And antedate the day,
When coming in the clouds we shall
The Judge of quick and dead with all
His glorious saints survey.
Amidst that bright ethereal train
We shall find our friend again,
Distinguish'd in the throng;
Our spirits shall his spirit know,
And sing with all we loved below
The Lamb's eternal song.
