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When sickness shakes the languid frame,
Each dazzling pleasure flies;
Phantoms of bliss no more obscure
Our long-deluded eyes.
The tottering frame of mortal life
Shall crumble into dust;
Nature shall faint —but learn, my soul,
On nature’s God to trust.
The man whose pious heart is fixed
On his all-gracious God,
In every frown may comfort find,
And kiss the chastening rod.
Near him shall death itself alarm;
On heaven his soul relies;
With joy he views his Maker’s love,
And with composure dies.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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Bible Refs:
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 1851 | # 508 |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
