There no cloud can intervene, there no angry tempest blows.
Every tear is wiped away, sighs no more shall heave the breast;
Night is lost in endless day, sorrow in eternal rest.”
Religion teaches you not to diminish hope by mourning the loss of dear children or Christian friends, but to cultivate it with the faith that they are now in heaven.
“O, think that while you’re weeping here,
The hand a golden harp is stringing;
And, with a voice serene and clear,
The ransomed soul, without a tear,
The Saviour’s praise is singing.
And think that all their pains are fled,