No longer may we dread to die.
Let every fear be cast away,
And tears be wiped from every eye.

Sorrow and pain the Saviour knew;
A dark and thorny path he trod;
But heaven was ever in his view,--
That toilsome path led up to God.

Let every heart rejoice and sing;
Let every sin and sorrow cease;
Let children come this day and bring
Their offering of love and peace.


THE MINISTRY OF PAIN.

Cease, my complaining spirit, cease;
Know 'tis a Father's hand you feel;
It leads you to the realms of peace;
It kindly only wounds to heal.

My Father! what a holy joy
Bursts on the sad, desponding mind,
To say, when fiercest ills annoy,--
"I know my Father still is kind!"

This bids each trembling fear be still,
Checks every murmur, every sigh;
Patience then waits his sovereign will,