WHAT thoughts come to the Christian's aid,
Upon a bed of sickness laid,
While nightly watchers silence keep,
Or close their weary eyes to sleep,
When lamp and faggots waste away,
As dimly dawns approaching day?
'Though here this frame of dust may end,
My spirit shall to God ascend,
And, for his sake who died to save
Poor sinners from a hopeless grave,
With all her sins and faults forgiven,
A peaceful shelter find in heaven;
A Father's house, a home of love,
Praised be his name, all praise above!
Who, even in ruin, loved us still,
And would not soul and body kill!
And blessed be His generous Son,
Who has for us such mercy won!
His gospel sheds a cheering light
Upon our darkling way, through dreary night.
A gleam falls from a severed cloud,
Upon the coffin, and the shroud;
While, high in air, with buoyant swell,
Sounds like a friendly call, the passing bell.'