REST, little slumberers, rest, far from the reach of pain,
Lodged in a loving Saviour’s breast, oh, what eternal
gain;
And yet we called it loss, and wept with grief to see
Those gentle forms we loved so well in silence borne
away.
’Tis hard indeed to part, to part with those we love,
But hark, I hear a voice that says, “They’re safely
moored above.”
Ah, yes, dear little ones, we’ll hush the rising sigh,
Sing on, sing on your heavenly songs, we’ll join you
by and bye;
A few more toilsome days of weariness and pain,
A few more sighs, a few more tears, and we our rest
shall gain.
Oh, sweet inspiring thought, how can our hearts be
sad,
With such a glorious hope in view we cannot but be
glad;
Adieu, sweet babes, adieu, we’ll check the starting
tear,
’Tis better far to be with Christ — no separation there.
Then tune your infant songs, the heavenly chorus
swell,
And we on earth will bless His name who doeth all
things well.
Oh, ye bereaved ones, your Father strikes the blow,
And though the trial seem severe, He If gently bear
you through:
The taking of your babes to dwell with Him above,
Is but another blessed proof of His unchanging love.
Happy, indeed, are they, according to His word,
Who suffer tribulation here as followers of their Lord;
Oh, may He give you grace to take the offered cup,
And drink with joy the bitter draft, because He mixed it up.
Rejoice, again rejoice, ye chastened of the Lord,
He will not leave you comfortless, He will fulfill His
word:
Your babes are gone before, but oh, the day draws
near,
When you shall meet them both above—no separation there.