How blest is our sister, bereft
Of all that could burden her mind!
How easy the soul that has left
This wearisome body behind;
Of evil incapable, thou
Whose relics with envy I see,
No longer in misery now,
No longer a sinner like me.
This earth is affected no more
With sickness, or shaken with pain:
The war in the members is o’er,
And never shall vex her again:
No anger, henceforward, or shame,
Shall redden this innocent clay;
Extinct is the animal flame,
And passion is vanished away.
This languishing head is at rest,
Its thinking and aching are o’er;
This quiet, immoveable breast
Is heav’d by affliction no more:
This heart is no longer the seat
Of trouble and torturing pain;
It ceases to flutter and beat,
It never shall flutter again.
The lids she so seldom could close,Charles Wesley
By sorrow forbidden to sleep,
Sealed up in their mortal repose,
Have strangely forgotten to weep:
The fountain can yield no supplies,
Their hollows from water are free;
The tears are all wiped from these eyes,
And evil they never shall see.
This hymn is from J. C. Ryle’s little book Spiritual Songs, published in 1849, when he was rector of Helmingham, Suffolk. The hymns Ryle selected were not found in the most common hymnbooks of the day.
Suggested tune: Deliverance.
Download a .pdf file of the hymnal.