When Musing Sorrow Weeps The Past

When musing sorrow weeps the past,
And mourns the present pain,
�Tis sweet to think of peace at last,
And feel that death is gain.

�Tis not that murmuring thoughts arise,
And dread a Father�s will,
�Tis not that meek submission flies,
And would not suffer still:

It is that heaven-born faith surveys
The path that leads to light,
And longs her eagle plumes to raise,
And lose herself in sight:

It is that hope with ardor glows,
To see Him face to face,
Whose dying love no language knows
Sufficient art to trace.

O let me wing my hallowed flight
From earthborn woe and care,
And soar above these clouds of night,
My Savior�s bliss to share!