1 Though nature’s voice you must obey,
Think, while your swelling griefs o’erflow,
That hand, which takes your joys away,
That sov’reign hand can heal your wo.

2 And while your mournful thoughts deplore
The parent gone, remov’d the friend!
With hearts resign’d,, his grace adore,
On whom your nobler hopes depend.

3 Does he not bid his children come
Thro’ death’s dark shades to realms of light!
Yet, when he calls them to their home
Shall fond survivors mourn their flight?

4 His work–here let your souls rely–
Immortal consolation gives:
Your heav’nly Father cannot die,
Th’eternal Friend forever lives.

5 O be that best of friends your trust;
On his almighty arm recline;
He, when your comforts sink in dust,
Can give you comforts more divine.

Added by

Blessy Christlin


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