Why Flow These Torrents Of Distress
“Why flow these torrents of distress?”
(The gentle Savior cries)
“Why are my sleeping saints surveyed
With unbelieving eyes!
“Death’s feeble arm shall never boast,
A Friend of Christ is slain;
Nor o’er their meaner part in dust
A lasting power retain.
“I come, on wings of love I come,
The slumberers to awake;
My voice shall reach the deepest tomb,
And all its bonds shall break.
“Touched by my hand, in smiles they rise;
They rise to sleep no more;
But robed with light and crowned with joy,
To endless day they soar.
Jesus, our faith receives thy word;
And, though fond nature weep,
Grace learns to hail the pious dead,
And emulate their sleep.
Our willing souls thy summons wait
With them to rest and praise;
So let thy much-loved presence cheer
These separating days.
The Christian’s duty, exhibited in a series of hymns,