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To the Father’s love we trust
That which was enshrined in dust;
While we give the earth to earth,
Finds the soul its heavenly birth.
Angels wait the angel child,
Gentle, young, and undefiled.
Said not oft those pleading eyes
That they longed for purer skies?
Did not oft the falling tear
Speak of roughening billows here?
Prayed we not that she might rest
On her Heavenly Father’s breast?
Give the spirit, then, to God,
And its vesture to the sod;
Life, henceforth, shall have a ray
Kindled ne’er to pass away,
And a light from angel eyes
Draw us upward to the skies.
Source: A Book of Hymns for Public and Private Devotion (15th ed.) #412