1 "Why flow these torrents of distress?"
(The gentle Savior cries)
"Why are my sleeping saints survey'd
"With unbelieving eyes?
2 "Death's feeble arm shall never boast,
"A friend of Christ's is slain;
"Nor o'er their meaner part in D=dust
"A lasting power retain.
3 "I come, on wings of love I come
"The slumberers to awake;
"My voice shall reach the deepest tomb,
"And all its bounds shall break.
4 "Touch'd by my hand, in smiles they rise;
"They rise, to sleep no more;
"But rob'd with light and crown'd with joy,
"To endless day they soar."
5 Jesus, our faith receives thy word;
And, tho' fond nature weep,
Grace learns to hail the pious dead,
And emulate their sleep.
6 Our willing souls thy summons wait
With them to rest and praise;
So let thy much-lov'd presence cheer
These separating days.
Source: A Selection of Hymns: from the best authors, intended to be an appendix to Dr. Watt's psalms and hymns. (1st Am. ed.) #DLXII
First Line: | Why flow these torrents of distress |
Title: | Departed Soul, Asleep |
Author: | Philip Doddridge |
Meter: | 8.6.8.6 |
Language: | English |
Copyright: | Public Domain |