332 Sons of Sorrow

p. 332

Tune: Sons of Sorrow, arr. William Houser 1848

text: SH 1991 says Anonymous but http://home.olemiss.edu/~mudws/texts/Gloom.txt attributes it (with many more verses, some changes) to one Selah Gridley (1770-1826), published 182 in Social and Campmeeting Songs, 1828 (noted at http://people.cs.uchicago.edu/~mamiller/docs/music/fasola/computer/332_Sons_of_Sorrow.txt)

Hail ye sighing sons of sorrow;

Learn with me, your certain doom 

Learn with me your fate tomorrow . 

Dead, perhaps, laid in the tomb! 

See all nature fading, dying, 

Silent, all things seem to mourn; 

Life from vegetation flying, 

Calls to mind the mould'ring urn. 

 Oft the autumn tempest rising, 

Makes the lofty forest nod; 

Scenes of nature, how surprising, 

Read in nature, Nature's God. 

And our sov'reign sole Creator 

Lives eternal in the sky, 

While we mortals yield to nature, 

Bloom awhile, then fade and die. 

 Fast my sun of life's declining, 

Soon 'twill set in dismal night; 

But in my hopes, pure and refining, 

Rest in future life and light. 

Cease then trembling, fearing, sighing, 

Death will break the sullen gloom; 

Soon my spirit, flutt'ring, flying, 

Shall be borne beyond the tomb. 

288 Long Time Traveller

p.288

Tune: White, Dobell's New Selection, 1810

Text: Edmund Dumas, 1856

Ye fleeting charms of earth farewell,
Your springs of joy are dry
My soul now seeks another home
A brighter world on high

 I'm a long time traveling here below
I'm a long time traveling away from home
I'm a long time traveling​ here below
To lay this body down

Farewell kind friends whose tender care
Has long engaged my love
Your fond embrace I now exchange
For better friends above

 I'm a long time travelling here below
I'm a long time travelling away from home
I'm a long time travelling here below
To lay this body down...

30b Why should we start and fear to die?

p.30 bottom

Tune: Prospect

1 Why should we start and fear to die?
What tim’rous worms we mortals are!
Death is the gate to endless joy,
And yet we dread to enter there.

2 The pains, the groans, the dying strife,
Fright our approaching souls away;
And we shrink back again to life,
Fond of our prison and our clay.

3 O if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul would stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fearless through death’s iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

4 Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are;
While on His breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.