Though nature's voice you must obey,
Think, while your swelling griefs o'erflow,
That hand, which takes your joys away,
That sovereign hand can heal your woe.
And while your mournful thoughts deplore
The parent gone, remov'd the friend!
With hearts resign'd, his grace adore,
On whom your nobler hopes depend.
Does he not bid his children rise
Through death's dark shades, to realms of light?
Yet, when he calls them to the skies,
Shall fond survivors mourn their flight?
His word (here let your soul rely)
Immortal consolation gives:
Your heavenly Father cannot die,
Jesus the friend, for ever lives.
O be that dearest friend your trust,
On his almighty arm recline;
He, when your comforts sink in dust,
Can give you comforts more divine.
|First Line:||Though nature's voice you must obey|
|Title:||To — on the death of her father|