Still on your knees be thanks expressed,
According as the Lord has blessed;
This tongue, then mute, can now foretell
Jesus shall have done all things well.

Should the great Sovereign will it so,
That I in secret with him go,
’T will be enough that He stands by,
He all my wants will well supply.

Upon his dear, his faithful breast,
My heart and head shall safely rest;
The fluttering pulse and bursting sigh,
He’ll soothe with, “Fear not; it is I.”

Into his hands my spirit I’ll breathe,
Inhaling life from him in death;
Though none should see, faith can foretell
My Jesus shall do all things well.

Though he deny my half-formed prayer,
Well may I cast on Him my care;
All things are mine, or life or death;
In praise of Him I’ll spend my breath.

Be this my only wish beside,
That God’s great name be glorified,
What me concerns faith can foretell,
My Jesus shall do all things well.

WIDOWHOOD.

WRITTEN IN THE ISLAND OF ANTIGUA
SHORTLY AFTER DR. GRAHAM’S DEATH.

PART I.

Hail; thou state of widowhood,
State of those that mourn to God;
Who, from earthly comforts torn,
Only live to pray and mourn.

Meanest of the number, I
For my dear companion sigh;
Patiently my loss deplore,
Mourn for one that mourns no more.

Me my consort hath outrun,
Out of sight he quite has gone;
He his course has finished here,
First come to the sepulchre.

Following on with earnest haste,
Till my mourning days are past,
I my partner’s steps pursue,
I shall soon be happy too;

Find the ease for which I pant,
Gain the only good I want;
Quietly lay down my head,
Sink into my earthy bed.

There my flesh shall rest in hope,
Till the quickened dust mount up,
When to glorious life I’ll rise,
To meet my husband in the skies.

PART II.

Happy they who trust in Jesus,
Jesus turns our loss to gain;
Still his balmy mercies ease us,
Sweeten all our grief and pain.

When he calls our friends t’ inherit
All the glories of the blest,
He assures the widowed spirit,
“Thou shalt quickly be at rest.”

Though my flesh and spirit languish,
Let me not too much complain;
Sure at last t’ outlive my anguish,
Sure to find my friend again.

Ransomed from a world of sorrow,
He to-day is taken home;
I shall be released to-morrow—­
Come, my dear Redeemer, come.