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jo The Book of Praise.
Thou, who didst stoop below
To drain the cup of woe Wearing the form of frail mortality,
Thy blessed labours done,
Thy crown of victory won, Hast pass'd from earth, pass'd to Thy home on high.
It was no path of flowers
Through this dark world of ours, Beloved of the Father, Thou didst tread :
And shall we in dismay
Shrink from the narrow way, When clouds and darkness are around it spread ?
O Thou, who art our life,
Be with us through the strife !
Thy holy head by earth's fierce storms was bowed ;
Raise Thou our eyes above,
To see a Father's love Beam, like the bow of promise, through the cloud.
E'en through the awful gloom Which hovers o'er the tomb, That light of love our guiding star shall be : Our spirits shall not dread The shadowy way to tread, Friend, Guardian, Saviour! which doth lead to Thee.
Sarah Appleton Miles. [1840.]