LIV. |FAR BETTER.|

8,7,8,7,4,7

Many dear ones are departed

To the grave's dark silent land:

I shall soon receive the summons

There to lie amid the band;

Where they hear not

Any more sad earth's complaints.

Blest are they who have expired

In the Lord, supremely blest!

In the port so oft desired

They for ever safely rest.

How much better,

There to sing than sigh with us!