I sink into my Savior's will.

With smiles of vict'ry on his brow,
And heav'nly transport in his breast,
Well pleased, he leaves this vale of woe,
And like an infant sinks to rest.

Down through the portals of the sky
Descend a glorious shining band.
Who waft his soul to joys on high,
And blissful scenes at God's right hand.

Nor does the monster yet relent,--
Four blooming victims he has slain,
Yet on another now intent,
He bends his fatal bow again.

And must this only daughter go,
Ere half her budding graces bloom?
Yes, cruel death will take her too,
To swell his numbers in the tomb.

See on her cheek the death rose bloom,
And smile with a deceitful glow;
'Tis the red banner of the tomb,
To warn her friends that she must go.

With bleeding hearts they feel the rod,
And weeping, lay her in the grave,
Yet with submission yield to God,