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Burial of the Dead

REQUIESCAT 7. 7. 7. 7. 8. 8.

John B. Dykes, 1875

Now the la b'rer's task is o'er; Now the bat tle day

0:4 4

Now up on

the farther shore Lands the voya - ger at last.

Father,

in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleep

1 NOW the laborer's task is o'er;

Now the battle day is past;

Now upon the farther shore
Lands the voyager at last.
Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleping.

2 There the tears of earth are dried;
There its hidden things are clear;
There the work of life is tried

By a juster Judge than here. Father, in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

3 There the sinful souls, that turn
To the cross their dying eyes,
All the love of Christ shall learn
At His feet in paradise.
Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

4 There no more the powers of hell
Can prevail to mar their peace:
Christ the Lord shall guard them well,
He who died for their release.
Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

5 "Earth to earth, and dust to dust,"
Calmly now the words we say;
Left behind, we wait in trust
For the resurrection-day.
Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

John Ellerton, 1871

GEN

Now Thy little lamb's brief weeping;

Ah, how peaceful, pale and mild,

In the narrow bed he's sleeping,
And no sigh of anguish sore
Heaves that little bosom more.

2 In this world of care and pain,

Lord, Thou wouldst no longer leave him;

To the sunny, heavenly plain

Thou dost now with joy receive him;

Clothed in robes of spotless white,
Now he dwells with Thee in light.

3 Ah, Lord Jesus, grant that we

Where he lives may soon be living,
And the lovely pastures see

That his heavenly food are giving;
Then the gain of death we prove,

Though Thou take what most we love.

ing,

men.

Johann W. Meinhold, 1835; tr. Catherine Winkworth, 1858

For, though from out our bourne of time and place The flood may bear

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the

SUNSET and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For, though from out our bourne of time and place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crossed the bar.

Alfred Tennyson, 1889