3 Should coming days be cold and dark,
  We need not cease our singing;
That perfect rest none can molest,
  Where golden harps are ringing.

4 Let sorrow’s rudest tempest blow,
  Each cord on earth to sever;
Our King says,—­“Come!” and there’s our home,
  Forever, oh! forever!

     David Nelson, 1835.

499 Shining Shore. 8s & 7s.  Trochaic.

Wayfarers. (1147)

Wayfarers in the wilderness,
  By morn, and noon, and even,
Day after day, we journey on,
  With weary feet toward heaven.

Cho.—­O land above!  O land of love! 
        The glory shineth o’er thee;
      O Christ, our King! in mercy bring
        Us thither, we implore thee!

2 By day the cloud before us goes,
  By night the cloud of fire,
To guide us o’er the trackless waste,
  To Canaan ever nigher.

3 The sea was riven from our feet,
  And so shall be the river;
And, by the King’s highway brought home,
  We’ll praise his name forever: 

     Alexander R. Thompson, 1869.

500 Nearer Home. 6s.

A Solemn Thought. (1139)

One sweetly solemn thought
  Comes to me o’er and o’er;
I’m nearer home to-day
  Than e’er I’ve been before.

Cho.—­I’m nearer my home, nearer my home,
        Nearer my home to-day;
      Yes, nearer my home in heav’n to-day,
        Than ever I’ve been before.

2 Nearer my Father’s house
  Where the blest mansions be;
Nearer the great white throne,
  Nearer the crystal sea;

3 Nearer the bound where we
  Must lay our burdens down,
Nearer to leave the cross,
  Nearer to gain the crown.

4 The waves of that deep sea
  Roll dark before my sight,
But break, the other side,
  Upon a shore of light.

5 Oh! if my mortal feet
  Have almost gained the brink,
If I am nearer home
  To-day than e’en I think,

6 Father! perfect my trust,
  That I may rest, in death,
On Christ, my Lord, alone,
  And thus resign my breath.

     Phoebe Cary, 1852 a.

501 Consolation.  P.M.

The Death of a Child.

There is no flock, however watched and tended,
  But one dead lamb is there! 
There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended,
  But has one vacant chair! 
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
  And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel for her children crying
  Will not be comforted!

2 Let us be patient, these severe afflictions
  Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
  Assume this dark disguise. 
We see but dimly thro’ the mists and vapors,
  Amid these earthly damps,
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers,
  May be heav’ns distant lamps.

3 She is not dead, the child of our affection,
  But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
  And Christ himself doth rule. 
In that great cloister’s stillness and seclusion,
  By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin’s pollution,
  She lives whom we call dead.