Various Messages from Samuel Logan Brengle

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'As With Sons'

'If ye endure chastening,' wrote the Apostle to the Hebrews -- and that word 'chastening , means child-discipline for purposes of training -- 'If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is be whom the father chasteneth not? But if ye be without chastisement (or discipline), whereof all are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons ' (Hebrews xii. 7, 8).

If I should turn to the Commentaries of Matthew Henry, Adam Clark, Jamieson, Fawcett, and Brown, or others, I should probably find some wise and useful comments on these verses. But life itself will furnish the best and most instructive comment to the man with opened eyes, who observes, meditates, thinks, and remembers the chastenings of his own youth.

For some days I have been an amused and deeply interested observer of the chastening or discipline of one of my little grandsons who is not yet a year old. He is almost bursting with 'pep.' He simply bubbles over with life. One of his chief joys is to get into his bath. It is perfectly delicious to watch him as he kicks and coos and gurgles and splashes water all over himself and any one who comes near, and blinks when water pops into his eyes, and revels in one of the chief joys of his young life. But how the little ignoramus does loath being undressed and redressed before and following his bath! He kicks and flourishes his arms in impatient protest, cries and objects in all manner of baby ways, while his insistent mother ignores all his objections, not asking what he likes, putting on him such clothes as she thinks best, plumps him into his baby-carriage, and wheels the rosy little rogue out on to the porch for his morning nap in the sunshine and soft spring winds.

All this to him is chastening, discipline, training. It is not severe, it is gentle and wise, but to him much of it is 'grievous.' 'Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous,' writes the Apostle, 'but grievous: nevertheless afterward' -- let us note this 'nevertheless afterward' and give thanks and be humble -- 'nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.' The baby will learn slowly, but surely, through this unwavering process that he must submit to rightful authority and superior wisdom, and that not that which is at present pleasant, but that which is right and good must come first; then some day he will discover that all this 'grievous' insistence of his unyielding mother was but the expression of wise, thoughtful, sacrificial love.

'God dealeth with you as with sons.' 'Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.' 'Behold, happy is the man whom God correcteth: therefore despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty: For He maketh sore, and bindeth up; He woundeth, and His hands make whole' (Job v.17, 18).

If his father and mother are wise, their chastening, or discipline, will grow with the growth and unfold with the unfolding of this baby boy. They will probably often find themselves sorely perplexed, their hearts will be searched, and they will discover that their own minds and spirits are being disciplined, chastened, in ways that to them are for the present 'grievous.' But if they are humble and prayerful and patient and trustful, and always putting the right and the good first, they will find that while they discipline the child, God in love is training them, and bringing them into intimate, understanding fellowship with Himself in His great and sore travail to save and train a fallen race that wants its own way and prefers pleasure to righteousness. And, if they are wise, they will note that God is just as insistent in disciplining them as they are in disciplining their baby boy, and for the same reason -- for their good.

As the baby gets older the discipline at times may have to be sterner and more severe. If he will yield to their word, happy will he be; but if he will not be guided by word, then it may be necessary to use the rod. 'The rod and reproof give wisdom,' wrote Solomon, 'but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.' I do not know that I can improve upon Solomon; he mentions the rod before reproof, but I would suggest reproof before the rod. Gentle measures should first be used. The Lord pleads with His people. 'Be ye not as the horse and the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle.' He has a better, gentler way: 'I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with Mine eye,' He says (Psalm xxxii. 8). How tender and gracious God is! And how often I have seen a wise mother counsel her child and guide it with her eye.

But the child that will not be so guided should be taught by sterner ways. It is not true love that withholds proper discipline from the child. 'He that spareth the rod hateth his son,' wrote Solomon, 'but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes' (Proverbs xiii. 24).

'Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.' 'God dealeth with you as with sons.' Let us learn from the Heavenly Father how to be true fathers and mothers.

'Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying' (Proverbs xix. 18).

'Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest; yea, he shall give delight unto thy soul '(Proverbs xxix. 17). For 'Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.' (Proverbs xxii. 15).

That parent receives at last the highest and deepest affection of the child, who has exercised the kindest, wisest, yet firmest and most unvarying control of the child. But firmness must be balanced by justice, or the child will be embittered and made into a sullen rebel.

My sweet mother was kind, but she was not invariably firm. After my father's death she was left alone with me, her tiny boy, and all the wellsprings of her deep love and tender affection flowed around me, and often when she should have been firm and unbending she yielded to melting tenderness, of which I was quick to take advantage. I do not remember it, but she herself told me that I would have been spoiled had she not married again and found in my stepfather a counterpoise to her tenderness. He was firm and unbending, and I stood in awe of him, much to my profit. He had a boy near my own age, and as between us he meted out discipline in even measure. But while he was firm with us, I felt in my boy-heart that he was not always just. He was hasty. He would fly into a passion. He was not patient, and did not always take time to find out all the facts, and at times I was embittered, and might have been spoiled by him as surely as by mother's fondness, had their methods not in a measure balanced each other. They both needed a finer, firmer self-control to wisely discipline growing boys.

My sweet, lovely mother needed to firmly control the tenderness of her feelings and the floods of her affection, while he needed to control the unthinking quickness of his snap judgments and the nervous and passionate haste of his explosive temper. But while he punished us boys sometimes when I was conscious we did not deserve it, yet he missed us sometimes when we did, so betwixt and between we got about what on the whole we deserved, and I have no quarrel in my memory with his dealings, but only gratitude and affection, and a deep wish that in some way after all these scores of years I could repay the debt I owe him.

But it is to my darling mother I owe my deepest debt of love and gratitude. As I grew older, her gentleness and tenderness became the most powerful instrument of discipline to my wayward spirit, just as grace is more mighty to break and re-fashion hard hearts than law, and Mount Calvary more influential for redemption than Mount Sinai. Can Eternity blot out the memory and remove the ache in my heart caused by a look she gave me when I was but a lad of thirteen years? My stepfather, I felt, had been unfair in a demand upon me one day, and I flamed inwardly with resentment, when my mother and a lady friend appeared, and all my pent-up wrath exploded in hot, angry words about my stepfather. Mother tried to get me to be silent, but I was too angry. I blurted out all that was in my heart. I had my say. But that night, as I went to kiss mother good-night, as I always did, she gave me a look of grief and pain that has stayed by me for more than half a century. Her loved form has mouldered beneath green grass and daisies and the rain has beaten upon, and snows of over half a hundred winters have shrouded her grave in their mantling whiteness, but the chastening pain that entered my heart from her wounded heart with that look is with me still; and to this day, after all these years, I can shut my eyes at any time and see the pained, grieved look in the lovely eyes of my dear mother.

If parents have trained their children so wisely as to hold their deep affection, while commanding their highest respect, there will come a time when a look will be weightier than law, and the character of the loved and esteemed parent will exert a greater authority to mould and fashion the child in righteousness than anything the parent can say or do. The commanding authority and chastenings of law must yield to the more penetrating and purifying self-discipline imposed by the recognized faith and hope and love of the parent, the disappointing of which the child feels will bring the deepest and most abiding pain to his own heart. This is God's way.

'God dealeth with you as with sons!'

There was a time when Jesus turned and rebuked Peter with sharp, incisive words: 'Get thee behind me, Satan; thou savourest not the things that be of God,' but at last the character and spirit of Jesus had so far mastered Peter that a look sufficed to break his heart. Peter in a panic of fear denied Jesus, cursed and swore, 'I know not the Man,' 'And immediately, while he yet spake, the cock crew,' and Jesus 'turned, and looked upon Peter'; that was all, but it was sufficient. 'Peter went out, and wept bitterly,' and never till his dying day could Peter forget that look. It broke his heart, and 'the sacrifices of God are a broken heart.'

This is the final triumph of all the chastenings of God's love. Once He has thus broken us He can henceforth guide us with His eye. Happy shall we be when we come to look upon the perplexing, painful, and harassing things of life, the 'grievous' things, as well as the plain and pleasant things, as instruments in the hands of our heavenly Father for the chastening, polishing, perfecting of our character and the widening of our influence.

John Bunyan's enemies offered to release him from prison if he would preach no more, but he replied that he would let moss grow over his eyes before he would make such a promise, so they kept him in that filthy Bedford jail among the vilest criminals for twelve weary years. They thought to stop his ministry, but they only made his ministry age long and world-wide, for during those years he meditated, dreamed, rejoiced, and wrote his undying 'Pilgrim's Progress.'

The limitation imposed upon him in prison by man was God's opportunity to liberate his mental and spiritual powers.

Paul would have been lost and unknown to us in the dimness of antiquity, were it not for his letters written from prison. Nero put him in chains, and shut his body up in a dungeon, and through this limitation God liberated his influence for all time and for the whole race. It is a law that liberation comes by limitation. We die to live, we are buried to be resurrected, we are chastened to be perfected.

'Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out.'

'Don't Flinch'

The other evening I asked a Captain for the story of her conversion. She told me that a few lines in a little book showed her the way to Jesus. She saw through these lines that if she would ask God to save her and would 'not flinch' in her faith, He would do it. So she prayed, and then waited for Jesus to come. She was very dark. She lived in a country that was full of spiritual darkness, and there was no one to teach her, and in her ignorance she thought Jesus would come in bodily presence, so she put her room in order and earnestly waited and watched for Him to open the door and come in. But He did not come.

Then she remembered that God had promised to answer the prayers of two or three; so she wrote a note to a minister to come and pray with her. But something seemed to whisper to her that this was doubting God, that she was trusting the minister's prayer and not the Lord, and this was doubt. So she tore the note up, and, looking to God, without flinching, she trusted, when suddenly Jesus came, not in bodily presence, but in Spirit, and her whole soul was flooded with light and love and the glory of God. Bless the Lord for ever!

Now I fully believe that it is just at this point that many souls draw back and fail. They flinch at the final test of faith. Just when all is on the altar and there is not one thing more to do but to stand still and see God come, 'an evil heart of unbelief' draws back, or Satan comes suggesting something more to do. And the soul, dropping its eyes from the bending heavens, gets into the endless treadmill of endeavor to either help itself or to get somebody to help it, and so misses the prize and never finds God, or rather never gives God a chance to show forth His saving power, and make His presence known.

While Faith stands waiting and trembling, taunted by mocking devils and all manner of suggestions to doubt, it is hard not to flinch; but flinching will prove as fatal to the revelation of Jesus to your souls as a movement will prove to your picture when before the photographer's camera. Be still in your heart and trust, look and wait, and Jesus will surely come. There may be ceaseless outward activity; but this inward soul-quiet and watchfulness and faith are absolutely necessary to the revelation of the Lord.

Abraham slew his birds and beasts and laid them on the altar and waited expectantly for God to come, and God came.

Solomon built his temple, placed everything in order, then prayed and waited, when lo! the glory of God filled the temple till the priests could not stand in His presence.

Elijah slew his bullock, placed it on the altar, poured water over it as a final work of faith, then prayed and waited till the heavens opened and fire fell and consumed his sacrifice.

The disciples prayed and waited on God for ten days; then suddenly the Holy Ghost fell on them in tongues of fire that filled the world with light.

If these men had flinched when the time came to steadfastly look to God and believe, the world would never have heard of them.

A ministerial friend of mine lost the blessing of full salvation. I found him in this state and dealt faithfully with him. He went to his church that night, and told his people his condition, and called them around the altar with him; but he failed to get the blessing. A wise friend of mine, who happened to be present, explained his failure by saying: 'He didn't stay on his knees long enough. He was in too big a hurry. He didn't give God time to deal with him.' The fact was, he flinched when the time to steadily watch and wait and trust came.

The Lord God declared by the mouth of Isaiah, 'He that believeth shall not make haste' (Isa. xxviii. 16). It is in this attitude of unflinching watching and waiting that faith and patience are made perfect; and when this perfection is attained the Lord will come suddenly to His temple, even to the heart that has waited for Him.

Myriads are the souls that can say with the royal Psalmist: 'I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined unto me, and heard my cry. He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings. And He hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God' (Ps. xi. 1-3)

'God Is Faithful'

A devout little woman wrote me a letter from Texas recently and said, 'My text for today is, " He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much; and he that is unjust (unrighteous) in the least is unjust (unrighteous) also in much " (Luke xvi. 10).'

What searching words are these of the Saviour! They should give us pause. They should set us to searching and judging ourselves, and this searching should enter into all departments of our life, and this judgment should be as before God's eyes, it should be unsparing -- far more so than our judgment upon our neighbors. When we judge them we may do ourselves and them great harm and injustice, and bring upon ourselves judgment and condemnation, for we are bidden not to sit in judgment upon others. 'Judge not,' said Jesus. 'Who art thou that judgest another? ' wrote the Apostle. But if we candidly and impartially judge ourselves we may thereby do ourselves and others great good, and so escape the judgment of God, for if we would judge ourselves,' and so correct ourselves, 'we should not be judged,' Wrote Paul (1 Corinthians xi. 31). 'Faithful in that which is least.' What are some of the least things?

Jesus was talking about business and money. Are we faithful in the use of money? Of our own money, and of The Army's money entrusted to us? Personally, I have for many years felt that one-tenth of all I had belonged to God. Some have said to me, 'You have given yourself to God, why give Him your money?' A most distinguished Christian leader said that to me one day, and I confess I was deeply surprised, if not shocked. I ask others to give, and I should feel myself utterly faithless if I did not give freely to my Master's cause and to His poor as I am able.

Are we faithful in the use of our time? Do we gather up the minutes for some useful employment, for prayer, for reading, for visiting? Some Officers and Soldiers waste much time after Meetings at night which they should spend in bed, and then they waste much time in bed in the morning when they should be up studying, praying, rejoicing, and attending to the duties of the day.

Are we faithful in the matter of speech? Little words are slipping out through the portals of our lips continually. Are they words we should say in the presence of Jesus?

I was much struck recently as I read Psalm xii. 4. God had a controversy with these people over their words, and they proudly and insolently replied, 'Our lips are our own: who is Lord over us?'

'The tongue is a little member,' wrote the Apostle James. Are we faithful in its use, or careless, thoughtless, foolish, wicked? For every idle, harmful word we shall have to give an account, we shall be brought into Judgment, said the Master. Oh, how important that we be faithful in our speech.

Are we faithful in the use of eye and ear and hand and foot? Are we faithful with ourselves, with our hearts, our consciences, our imaginations? Do we live as in God's sight, seeking always to do the things that please Him, so that we have the sweet, silent whisper in our hearts -- 'My beloved child in whom I am well pleased'? To 'the well-beloved Gaius' the Apostle John said, 'Beloved, thou doest faithfully whatsoever thou doest' (3 John 5), and if you and I do likewise, some day a greater than John will say to us, 'Well done, good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.'


There is no discharge in that war.' 'They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing.' 'Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life.'

When I was a little lad, time went by so slowly and the years seemed so long, that I felt I should never be a man. But I was told that the years would not seem so long when I got into my teens. So I waited in hope, and after what seemed a century or two I reached my teens, and sure enough the years tripped by a bit more quickly. Then I got into my twenties, and they sped by yet more swiftly, and I reached the thirties and speedily passed into the forties, and almost before I had time to turn around I found myself in the fifties, and about the time I hoped to catch my breath the wild rush of years carried me into the sixties, and now I'm bracing myself for the plunge into the abyss of RETIREMENT!

But is it an abyss? Will it swallow me up, and shall I be lost in its dark and silent depths? Is it not rather a sun-kissed, peaceful slope on the sunset side of life where my often over-tasked body can have a measure of repose, and my spirit, freed in part from the driving claims of the War, can have a foretaste of the Sabbath calm of eternity?

Well, I shall soon know, for abyss or sunlit slope, it is just ahead of me, and in a very little while I shall look into 'The War Cry' and the 'Disposition of Forces' and find my name in the list of those who are RETIRED. However, I am Not distressed in the least about this, but I am thinking about it and laying spiritual anchors to windward against that day.

I know that Jesus said, 'Take no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.' But I am sure He did not mean that literally, for if so, we should never buy coal by the ton or lay money by for taxes or a new suit of clothes. What He meant was that we should take no anxious thought. We should not worry and fret about tomorrow.

Now the best way I know to avoid anxious thought is to take calm, prayerful forethought. So I am taking forethought against the day of my retirement. I am praying for grace and wisdom for that time, and already I am considering what seem to me to be possible dangers, and arming my spirit in advance against them. I believe in preparedness. Jesus said, 'Be ye also ready.' So I watch and pray and prepare, that I may not be found wanting. I don't want to lose the dew from my soul. The dew of the morning passes away: but there is also the dew of evening -- I do not want to miss that.

Sunset is often as glorious as sunrise, and when the sun goes down 'the eternal stars shine out.' Often the splendor of the night is more wonderful than that of the day. The sun reveals the little things the flowers and grasses and birds and hills and sea and mountains -- these are little. But the larger things -- the immensities of the heavens with their flashing meteors, their silvery moons, their star-strewn depths sown thick with flaming suns -- these are the great things, and they are hidden by the garish light of day, but revealed by the kindly darkness of night.

So I suspect the greater glories, the surpassing splendors of the spiritual world, are yet to be revealed to me as the sun of this life begins to sink beneath western hills. 'At eventime it shall be light.' Hallelujah I do not expect to fold my hands and sit in listless idleness or vain repining when I am retired. There will still be abundant work for my head and heart and hands. I shall probably not be so active on the Field, or be 'going to and fro in the earth' on long campaigns as in the past. But I hope to pray more for my comrades who are on the Field and in the thick of the fight. There will be plenty of knee-work to do; and we have need of knee-workers more than ever, for this kaleidoscopic age -- electric, restless, and changeful as the wind-swept sea -- does not lend itself to prayer, the prayer that gets into close grips with God and the great wants of men, and brings down Heavenly resources to meet vast earthly needs.

I shall meditate more, at least I hope to, and read and ponder my Bible more, and try to match its wondrous truths with life, the life I still live and must live, and by its light try to interpret the life that surges all around me and manifests itself in the great movements, the triumphs and agonies and birth throes of men and nations. Oh, it will be a fascinating study!

I shall find plenty to do. If I can't command a Corps or a Division, or take part in councils, or lead on great soul-saving campaigns, I can talk to my grocer and doctor and letter-carrier about Jesus crucified and glorified, and the life that is everlasting. I can wear my uniform and go to my Corps and testify, and can still take an interest in the children and young people, and maybe out of the books of my experience find some helpful life lessons for them. And in doing this I shall hope to keep my own spirit young and plastic and sympathetic. I don't want to become hard and blind and unsympathetic toward youth, with its pathetic ignorance and conceit, its spiritual dangers, its heart-hunger, and its gropings after experiences that satisfy, its eager haste and its ardent ambitions.

Then there are letters I can write to struggling Officers on the Field -- letters of congratulation for those who are winning victory; letters of sympathy and cheer for those who are being hard pressed by the foe; letters to missionary Officers in far-off heathen lands; letters to those who are bereaved, who sit with empty arms and broken hearts in the dark shadows and deep silence beside open graves where I, too, have sat, whose heartache and deep grief I know, who in vain long

For the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still;

letters to those who in pain and weariness and possible loneliness are nearing the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where only the Good Shepherd can go with them every step of the way, but where some word of hope and cheer may still reach them from a comrade who thinks of them in love and ceases not to pray for them.

The thought of Retirement does not frighten me, nor cause me to repine, nor kindle resentment in me. Indeed, my long and somewhat heavy and exacting campaigns have left me frequently for a time so weary that my body has cried out, 'Here, now, you have driven me long enough; I am out of breath, exhausted, wearied half to death, tired down to the ground. I want you to retire.'

But then my spirit has risen up and cried out, 'Not a bit of it. Don't think of retirement! I'm not weary. I'm just learning how to fight. I'm getting my second wind. I want to die in the thick of the conflict on the field, at the battle's front, sword in hand, with my boots on.'

So there is my problem. Retirement will give my body a breathing spell, but I am studying how to satisfy my spirit and give it worthy employment, with scope to fly and run and walk and not grow weary (Isaiah xl. 3'). Well, I shall find a way! Paul did, and Bunyan, and blessed and beloved old John on Patmos. Paul was sent to prison, but he talked to his guards and won them to Christ, and by and by there were 'saints in Caesar's household.' And, Oh, those prison letters! Why, we should have missed some of the most precious portions of the Bible if Paul had not been forced into retirement through his prison experiences. I am glad he did not sit down and curse his fate and find fault and let his hands hang down and his knees grow feeble. But he still wrought on and made the years of retirement supplement and complete the labors of his active years.

John found work in his retirement. 'Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions,' said Joel. But John, in his old age, banished to the Isle of Patmos, swept by wintry seas, reversed the order of Joel and saw visions. 'I saw,' 'I heard,' wrote John. What did he see?

'I saw a great white throne, and Him that sat on it.'

'I saw a new Heaven and a new earth.'

'I saw the Holy City, New Jerusalem, coming down from. God out of Heaven.'

'I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God.'

What did he hear?

'I heard a great voice out of Heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.' 'He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be My son. But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.'

One day I went through the book of Revelation and noted the things John saw, and the things John heard. And it occurred to me that God is no respecter of persons, but is eternally the same, and if John had visions and heard angelic voices in retirement, may not I? Bunyan the tinker did. In his filthy jail, surrounded by ignorance and vileness, in poverty and distress, oppressed by hard confinement, he caught visions of Heaven and Hell and delectable mountains and angelic hosts that made his retirement so fruitful as to feed the whole Church of God for ages upon ages.

Even poor blind old Samson, sent into dark and bitter retirement through his sin, at last groped his way back to God and wrought havoc among the enemies of the Lord and of his people and accomplished more in his death than in his life.

So when I am retired I shall not sulk in my tent, nor repine, nor grumble at my lot. Nor shall I seek a secular job to while away my time. For years I resisted God's call to preach. My heart was set on being a lawyer. But against my protest and stubborn resistance was God's insistent call. And since 'the gifts and calling of God are with repentance,' and since 'a dispensation of the Gospel has been committed to me,' I shall 'carry on' and do with my might what my hands find to do, and do so with joy and good cheer.

But My soul, be on thy guard, Ten thousand foes arise;

The hosts of sin are pressing hard To draw thee from the skies.

Ne'er think the battle won, Nor lay thine armour down;

The fight of faith will not be done Till thou obtain the crown.

Oh, my soul, Be sober, then, be vigilant; forbear To seek or covet aught beyond thy sphere:

Only be strong to labor, and allow Thy Master's will to appoint the where and how.

Serve God: and winter's cold, or summer's heat, The breezy mountains or the dusty street,

Scene, season, circumstance, alike shall be His welcome messengers of joy to thee;

His Kingdom is within thee! Rise, and prove A present earnest of the bliss above.

And rejoice, Oh, my soul! for -- In the hour of death, after this life's whim, When the heart beats low and the eyes grow dim,

And pain has exhausted every limb -- The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him.

When the will has forgotten the lifelong aim And the mind can only disgrace its fame,

And man is uncertain of his own name The power of the Lord shall fill this frame.

When the last sigh is heard, and the last tear is shed, And the coffin is waiting beside the bed,

And the widow and child forsake the dead -- The angel of the Lord shall lift this head.

For even the purest delight may pall, And power must fail and pride must fall,

And the love of the dearest friends grow small. But the glory of the Lord is all in all.

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