I know they are in Heaven. O, happy thought!
Sorrow, away! He who on Calv’ry bled
For all who love him, has redemption bought,
And for the soul a righteousness has wrought,
So pure, so spotless, that the King of kings
Will look upon it, and refuse it not!
Fly, fly, my soul, on faith’s triumphant wings,
Nor grovel here on earth, amid these gloomy things!
XXVIII.
There is an hour which cometh unto all—