608. L. M.6l. Grant. |He is able to save unto the uttermost.|
1 When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And, sore dismayed, my spirit dies;
Yet he who once vouchsafed to bear
The sick'ning anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.
2 When, mourning, o'er some stone I bend,
Which covers all that was a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while;
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.
3 And oh, when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last,
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed -- for thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.