2 Cold though the world be, in the way before thee Wail not in sadness o'er the darkling tomb; God in His love still watcheth kindly o'er thee, Light shineth still above the clouds of gloom. 3 Dimmed though thine eyes be with the tears of sorrow Night only known beneath the sky of time, Faith can behold the dawning of a morrow Glowing in smiles of life and joy sublime. 4 Change, then, O mourner, grief to exultation; Firm and confiding should thy spirit be; Strong is His arm, the God of thy salvation, Strong is His love to cheer and comfort thee. 341. P. M. Mrs. Hemans. For Strength. 1 Father! who in the olive shade, When the dark hour came on, Didst, with a breath of heavenly aid, Strengthen thy Son; 2 O, in the anguish of our night, Send us down blest relief; And to the chastened, let Thy might Hallow the grief! 3 And thou, that, when the starry sky Saw the dread strife begun, Didst teach adoring faith to cry, "Thy will be done!"-- 4 By thy meek spirit, thou, of all That e'er have mourned the chief, Our Saviour! when the stroke doth fall, Hallow our grief! 342. 11 & 4s. M. Whittier. The Angels of Grief. 1 With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb. 2 Yet would we say, what every heart approveth,-- Our Father's will, Calling to Him the dear ones whom he loveth, Is mercy still. 3 Not upon us or ours the solemn angel Hath evil wrought; The funeral anthem is a glad evangel; The good die not! 4 God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What He has given; They live on earth in thought and deed, as truly As in His heaven. 343. C. M. Wilson. Angels. 1 O, not when the death-prayer is said, The life of life departs; The body in the grave is laid, Its beauty in our hearts. 2 At holy midnight, voices sweet, Like fragrance, fill the room; And happy ghosts, with noiseless feet, Come brightening through the gloom. 3 We know who sends the visions bright, From whose dear side they came; We veil our eyes before Thy light, We bless our Father's name! 4 This frame, O God, this feeble breath, Thy hand may soon destroy; We think of Thee, and feel in death A deep and holy joy. 5 Dim is the light of vanished years In glory yet to come; O idle grief, O foolish tears, When Jesus calls us home! 344. P. M. Mrs. Hemans.