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The Hope of the Disconsolate.
SIR ROBERT GRANT,
WHEN gathering clouds around I view,
If aught should tempt my soul to stray
When vexing thoughts within me rise,
When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, Which covers all that was a friend, And from his voice, his hand, his smile, Divides me for a little while,
Thou, Saviour, seest the tears I shed, For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.
And oh when I have safely passed Through every conflict but the last, Still, still unchanging, watch beside My painful bed, for thou hast died; Then point to realms of cloudless day, And wipe the latest tear away.
ONE Sweetly solemn thought,
I'm nearer my home to-day
Nearer my Father's house,
Where the many mansions be,Nearer the great white throne, Nearer the jasper sea.
Nearer the bound of life,
Where we lay our burdens down,—
Nearer leaving the cross,
Nearer wearing the crown.
But, lying darkly between,
Winding down through the night, To the dim and unknown stream, That leads me at last to the light,—
Close, closer my steps
Come to the dark abysm,Closer death to my lips
Presses the awful chrysm.
Saviour, perfect my trust,
Strengthen the might of my faith; Let me feel as I would when I stand On the rock of the shore of death,
Feel as I would when my feet
Beyond the Sunset.
REV. ROBERT F. SAMPLE.
"At evening time it shall be light."-Zech. xiv. 7.
SHADOWS o'er the vale are creeping,
Time is fleeting, and I'm drawing