1 In vain my fancy strives to paint
The moment after death,
The glories that surround a saint,
When yielding up his breath.
2 One gentle sigh his fetters breaks,
We scarce can say, "he's gone!"
Before the willing spirit takes
Its mansions near the throne.
3 Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
To trace the spirit's flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides that world of light.
4 Thus much (and this is all) we know,
Saints are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Savior rest.
5 On harps of gold they praise his name,
His face they always view;
Then let us followers be of them,
That we may praise him too.
The Hartford Selection of Hymns from the most approved authors, 1799
|Instances (1 - 1 of 1)||Title||First Line||Tune||Tune Key||Author||Meter||Scripture||Date||Subject||Source|
|The Cyber Hymnal #10789||In Vain My Fancy Strives To Paint||In vain my fancy strives to paint||ANCYRA||John Newton||CMD|