Death's angel has wrought his sad mission,
And broken our circle of love
The Master has taken his servant
To rest in the mansions above.
We know that his pure, ransomed spirit
Was longing to reach its bright home,
We would not recall him from glory
Again 'mid earth's trials to roam.
We know, too, that loved ones were waiting
To give him a welcome, most sweet-
'Twas one of his first joys in heaven
His own long-lost children to greet.
And bright, sainted ones without number,
The friends to his mem'ry so dear;
Yes, those who were there to receive him
Were more than the weeping ones here.
But O, we so miss our dear father,
Our hearts are so sad and so sore;
We long to be with him, in heaven,
When all our life-struggles are o'er.
At morn and at noon, as we gather
Around the old altar of prayer,
A deep, sacred yearning steals o'er us,
For, O, there's a vacancy there!
We miss the dear voice that once led us-
The verses he loved to repeat-
The calm, earnest reading of Scripture,
So tender, so loving, so sweet.
And as we bow down in our weakness,
Our Savior to praise and adore,
How fond and how precious the mem'ries,
Of him who has passed on before.
And O, how we urge the petition,
That God, in his infinite love,
Will take us, at last, all together,
To dwell in the refuge above.
