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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)

615 LYTE S. M.

The Forgiveness of Sins

John B. Wilkes, 1861

1 Far from my heaven - ly home, Far from my Father's breast, Faint - ing I

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A-long the star - ry road. A-MEN.

Copyright, 1895, by The Trustees of The Presbyterian Board of Pub

lication and Sabbath-School Work

2 No, no, it is not dying

Heaven's citizen to be;
A crown immortal wearing,
And rest unbroken sharing,
From care and conflict free.

3 No, no, it is not dying
To hear this gracious word,
"Receive a Father's blessing,
For evermore possessing

The favor of thy Lord."

4 No, no, it is not dying

The Shepherd's voice to know:
His sheep He ever leadeth,
His peaceful flock He feedeth,
Where living pastures grow.

5 No, no, it is not dying
To wear a lordly crown;
Among God's people dwelling,
The glorious triumph swelling
Of Him whose sway we own.

Rev. H. A. César Malan, 1832. Trans. by Rev. Robinson P. Dunn, 1852

617 (GREENWOOD) S. M.

1 It is not death to die,

To leave this weary road,

And midst the brotherhood on high
To be at home with God.

2 It is not death to close

The eye long dimmed by tears,
And wake, in glorious repose
To spend eternal years.

3 It is not death to bear
The wrench that sets us free

From dungeon chain, to breathe the air

Of boundless liberty.

4 It is not death to fling

Aside this sinful dust,

And rise, on strong exulting wing,
To live among the just.

5 Jesus, Thou Prince of Life,

Thy chosen cannot die:

Like Thee, they conquer in the strife,
To reign with Thee on high.

Rev. H. A. César Malan, 1832. Trans. by Rev. George W. Bethune, 1847

618

LEOMINSTER S. M. D.

George William Martin, 1862: har. by Sir Arthur Sullivan, 1874

4

1 A few more years shall roll, A few more sea

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And we

shall be with those that rest A - sleep with - in the tomb:

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O wash me in Thy precious blood, And take my sins

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2 A few more storms shall beat On this wild rocky shore,

(See also CHALVEY, No. 679)

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:

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.

Sir John Stainer, 1875

41 54

1 The saints of God! Their conflict past, And life's long battle won at last,

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No more they need the shield or sword, They cast them down before their Lord:

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2 The saints of God! Their wanderings 4 The saints of God their vigil keep

done,

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!

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!

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.

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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