On the Death Of a Believer

In vain our fancy strives to paint
   The moment after death,
The glories that surround the saints,
   When yielding up their breath.

One gentle sigh their fetters breaks;
   We scarce can say, "They're gone!"
Before the willing spirit takes
   Her mansion near the throne.

Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
   To trace her in her flight!
No eye can pierce within the veil
  Which hides that world of light.

Thus much (and this is all) we know,
   They are completely bless'd;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
   And with their Savior rest.

On harps of gold they praise his name,
   His face they always view;
Then let us foll'wers be of him,
   That we may praise him too.

Their faith and patience, love and zeal,
  Should make their mem'ry dear;
And, Lord, do thou the pray'rs fulfill
  They offer'd for us here.

While they have gain'd, we losers are,
   We miss them day by day;
But thou canst ev'ry breach repair,
   And wipe our tears away.

We pray, as in Elisha's case,
  When great Elijah went
May double portions of thy grace,
   To us who stay, be sent.
                   I. Newton, The Olney Hymnal