2 Among the mists we stumbled, and the rocks
Where the brown lichen whitens, and the fox
Watches the straggler from the scattered flocks;
But evening brings us home.
3 We have been wounded by the hunter's darts;
Our eyes are very heavy, and our hearts
Search for Thy coming: when the light departs
At evening, bring us home.
4 The darkness gathers; through the gloom no star
Rises to guide us; we have wandered far;
Without Thy lamp we know not where we are:
At evening bring us home.
5 The clouds are round us, and the snow-drifts thicken;
O Thou, dear Shepherd, leave us not to sicken
In the waste night; our tardy footsteps quicken:
At evening bring us home.
Sir John Skelton (1831-1897)
The Resurrection of the Body: Death and Burial 616 WAKEFIELD 7.6.7.7.6.
William W. Gilchrist, 1895
2 A few more storms shall beat
On this wild rocky shore,
And we shall be where tempests cease,
And surges swell no more:
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that calm day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.
3 A few more Sabbaths here
Shall cheer us on our way,
And we shall reach the endless rest,
The eternal Sabbath-day:
(See also CHALVEY, No. 679)
George William Martin, 1862: har. by Sir Arthur Sullivan, 1874
O wash me in Thy precious blood, And take my sins
Then, O my Lord, prepare My soul for that sweet day; O wash me in Thy precious blood, And take my sins away.
4 'Tis but a little while,
And He shall come again
Who died that we might live, who lives
That we with Him may reign:
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that glad day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.
Rev. Horatius Bonar, 1844
619 REST (STAINER) 8.8.8.8.8.8.
1 The saints of God! Their conflict past, And life's long battle won at last,
No more they need the shield or sword, They cast them down before their Lord:
J1 J
er blest, At Jesus' feet how safe your rest!
No more their weary course they run,
No more they faint, no more they fall,
No foes oppress, no fears appal:
O happy saints! for ever blest,
In that dear home how sweet your rest!
2 The saints of God! Their wanderings 4 The saints of God their vigil keep
done,
While yet their mortal bodies sleep,
Till from the dust they too shall rise
And soar triumphant to the skies:
O happy saints! rejoice and sing;
He quickly comes, your Lord and
King.
3 The saints of God! Life's voyage o'er,
Safe landed on that blissful shore,
No stormy tempests now they dread,
No roaring billows lift their head:
O happy saints! for ever blest,
In that calm haven of your rest!
5 O God of saints, to Thee we cry;
O Saviour, plead for us on high;
O Holy Ghost, our Guide and Friend,
Grant us Thy grace till life shall end;
That with all saints our rest may be
In that bright Paradise with Thee.
Archbishop William D. Maclagan, 1870
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