FUNERAL HYMN

WILLIAM WALSHAM HOWE, 1864

For all the saints who from their labors rest,
Who thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.

Alleluia.

Thou wast their rock, their fortress and their might: Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight; Thou in the darkness dread, the one true Light. Alleluia.

O may thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And in, with them, the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia.

O blest communion, fellowship divine!

We feebly struggle; they in glory shine;
Yet all are one in Thee, for all are thine.

Alleluia.

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia.

The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, to faithful warriors cometh rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blest.

Alleluia.

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.

Alleluia.

From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast, Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host, Singing to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost,

Alleluia, Amen.

OUR MASTER

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, 1866

Immortal Love, forever full,

Forever flowing free,

Forever shared, forever whole,
A never-ebbing sea!

We may not climb the heavenly steeps
To bring the Lord Christ down;
In vain we search the lowest deeps,
For Him no depths can drown,

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet
A present help is He;

And faith has still its Olivet

And love its Galilee.

The healing of His seamless dress

Is by our beds of pain;

We touch Him in life's throng and press,

And we are whole again.

Through Him the first fond prayers are said
Our lips of childhood frame;

The last low whispers of the dead

Are burdened with His name.

Our Lord and Master of us all!
Whate'er our name or sign,

We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call
We test our lives by thine.

ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS

SABINE BARING-GOULD, 1867

Onward, Christian soldiers,

Marching as to war,

With the cross of Jesus
Going on before.
Christ the royal master,
Leads against the foe;
Forward into battle,

See his banners go.

At the sound of triumph
Satan's host doth flee;
On, then, Christian soldiers,
On to victory!

Hell's foundations quiver

At the shout of praise; Brothers lift your voices, Loud your anthems raise.

Like a mighty army

Moves the church of God;

Brethren, we are treading

Where the saints have trod;

We are not divided,

All one body, we,

One in hope and doctrine,

One in charity.

Crowns and thrones may perish,

Kingdoms rise and wane, But the church of Jesus

Constant will remain;

Gates of hell can never

'Gainst that church prevail;

We have Christ's own promise,
And that cannot fail.

Onward, then, ye people!
Join our happy throng,
Blend with ours your voices,
In the triumph song;
Glory laud and honor
Unto Christ the king;
This through countless ages
Men and angels sing.

PILGRIM'S SONG

BERNARD S. INGEMANN, 1825

Translated by Sabine Baring-Gould, 1867

Thro' the night of doubt and sorrow
Onward goes the pilgrim band,
Singing songs of expectation,

Marching to the promised land. Clear before us through the darkness Gleams and burns the guiding light; Brother clasps the hand of brother, Stepping fearless through the night.

One the light of God's own presence
O'er His ransomed people shed,
Chasing far the gloom and terror,
Brightening all the path we tread;
One the object of our journey,

One the faith which never tires,
One the earnest looking forward,
One the hope our God inspires;

One the strain that lips of thousands
Lift as from the heart of one;
One the conflict, one the peril,
One the march in God begun;
One the gladness of rejoicing
On the far eternal shore,
Where the one almighty Father
Reigns in love for evermore.

Onward, therefore, pilgrim brothers,
Onward with the cross our aid!
Bear its shame and fight its battle,
Till we rest beneath its shade!
Soon shall come the great awaking,
Soon the rending of the tomb;
Then the scattering of the shadows,
And the end of toil and gloom.

CHILD'S EVENING HYMN

SABINE BARING-GOULD, 1868

Now the day is over,

Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening

Steal across the sky.

Now the darkness gathers,
Stars begin to peep,

Birds and beasts and flowers

Soon will be asleep.

Jesus give the weary

Calm and sweet repose,

With thy tenderest blessing
May our eyelids close.

Grant to little children
Visions bright of thee,
Guard the sailors tossing
On the deep blue sea.

Comfort every sufferer
Watching late in pain;
Those who plan some evil
From their sin restrain.