O the Hour When This Material

O the hour when this ma­te­ri­al

Shall have van­ished as a cloud;

When

amid the wide ethe­re­al

All th’in­vis­ible shall crowd;

And the nak­ed soul

sur­rounded

With re­al­ities un­known

Triumph in the view un­bound­ed

Feel her­self with God alone.

In that sud­den

strange tran­si­tion

By what new and fin­er sense

Shall she grasp the migh­ty vi­sion

And re­ceive its in­flu­ence?

Angels! guard the new im­mor­tal

Through the won­der-teem­ing space

To the ev­er­last­ing por­tal

To the spir­it’s rest­ing place.

Will she then

with fond emo­tion

Aught of hu­man love re­tain?

Or

ab­sorbed in pure de­vo­tion

Will no earth­ly trace re­main?

Can the grave those ties dis­sev­er

With the ve­ry heart strings twined?

Must she part

and part for ev­er

With the friend she leaves be­hind?

No: the past she still re­me­mbers.

Faith and hope

sur­viv­ing too

Ever watch those sleep­ing em­bers

Which must rise and live anew.

For the wi­dowed

lone­ly spir­it

Waiting to be clothed afresh

Longs per­fect­ion to in­her­it

And to tri­umph in the flesh.

Angels! let the ran­somed strang­er

In your ten­der care be blest

Hoping

trust­ing

safe from dan­ger

Till the trum­pet end her rest;

Till the trump which shakes cre­ation

Through the circ­ling heav’ns shall roll

Till the day of con­sum­ma­tion

Till the brid­al of the soul

Can I trust a fel­low be­ing?

Can I trust an an­gel’s care?

O Thou mer­ci­ful

all-see­ing!

Beam around my spir­it there.

Jesus

bless­èd Me­di­at­or!

Thou the ai­ry path hast trod:

Thou the Judge

the Con­sum­ma­tor!

Shepherd of the fold of God!

Blessèd fold! no foe can en­ter

And no friend de­part­eth thence.

Jesus is their sun

their cen­ter;

And their shield

Om­ni­po­tence.

Blessèd! for the Lamb shall feed them

All their tears shall wipe away

To the liv­ing fount­ains lead them

Till fru­ition’s per­fect day.

Lo! it comes

that day of won­der!

Louder chor­als shake the skies.

Hades’ gates are burst asun­der:

See! the new-clothed my­ri­ads rise.

Thought! re­press thy weak en­dea­vor:

Here must rea­son pros­trate fall.

Oh

th’ineffable For­ev­er!

And th’eter­nal All in All!