759. L. M. S. S. Choir. Death of a Scholar.
1 We come our Sabbath hymn to raise,
Our earnest, humble prayer to pour;
One voice is hushed, its notes of praise
Shall mingle here with ours no more.
2 The lips are still, the eye is dim,
That brightly beamed with joy and love;
The spirit, it hath gone to Him
Who freely gave it from above.
3 We will not weep, for Jesus said,
|Let little children to me come;|
But pray that our young hearts be led
To seek our everlasting home.