Scripture Verse

I must work the works of Him that sent Me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work. John 9:4

Introduction

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Philip Bliss (1838–1876)

Words: Phi­lip P. Bliss (1838–1876), in Wel­come Tid­ings, by Ro­bert Low­ry, W. How­ard Doane, & Ira San­key (New York: Big­low & Main, 1877). This is a bit­ter­sweet song—it was pub­lished the year af­ter Bliss’ un­time­ly death.

Music: Ana­ni­as Ira D. San­key (🔊 pdf nwc).

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Ira D. Sankey (1840–1908)

Lyrics

When my wea­ry hands are fold­ed
On my faint­ly throb­bing breast,
And my soul has spread her pin­ions
For the ci­ty of the blest;
’Twill be sweet to hear the loved ones
Sing some dear, fa­mil­iar song,
As I rise to join the chor­us
Of the blood-washed, ho­ly throng.

But a great­er joy ’twill give me
If some toil­ing one can say,
I have helped to bear his bur­den
And have cheered him on the way;
Oh! I’ll praise His grace for­ev­er
Who hath died to ran­som me,
And hath chos­en me a shar­er
In His bless­èd work to be.

When the songs of earth are ov­er,
And my last good­bye is said,
When my life­less form they fol­low
To the dwell­ing of the dead;
’Twill be sweet if friends re­mem­ber
And shall mark the qui­et spot,
Telling on­ly that the sleep­er
Hath not quick­ly been for­got.

But if one poor, wea­ry wan­d’rer
Shall be guid­ed home by me,
’Twere a grand­er, nob­ler mo­nu­ment,
Throughout all eter­ni­ty;
And to Him shall be the glo­ry,
Unto whom all praise is due,
For the love that hath re­deemed us,
And hath made my hea­ven two.

When among the ran­somed mill­ions
By His grace re­deemed I stand,
Then my song shall swell the chor­us
Of the glad, tri­um­phant band;
Oh, how sweet will be the rest­ing
When my con­flicts are all past,
Oh, the migh­ty Al­le­lu­ia
Of our vic­to­ry at last!