Sunday's Hymn

Here’s a funeral hymn from Olney Hymns. It is meant to be sung “on the death of a believer.”

In vain my fancy strives to paint
The moment after death
The glories that surround the saint,
When yielding up its breath.

One gentle sigh their fetters breaks,
We scarce can say, “They’re gone!”
Before the willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.

Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
To trace her in her flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides that world of light.

Thus much (and this is all) we know,
They are completely blest
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Savior rest.

On harps of gold they praise his name,
His face they always view;
Then let us follow’rs be of them,
That we may praise him too.

Their faith and patience, love and zeal,
Should make their memory dear;
And, Lord, do thou the prayers fulfil,
They offered for us here.

While they have gained, we losers are,
We miss them day by day;
But thou canst every breach repair,
And wipe our tears away.

We pray, as in Elisha’s case,
When great Elijah went,
May double portions of thy grace,
To us who stay, be sent.

—John Newton

Other hymns, worship songs, sermons etc. posted today:

• Lord’s Day 36, 2009 at The Thirsty Theologian
• Rock of Ages at The Happy Wonderer
• From All That Dwells Below the Skies at Fieldstone Cottage
• Devotion from The Valley of Vision at The Upward Call
• With Grateful Heart My Thanks I Bring at Hiraeth
• Mysterious Presence, Source of All at Conjubilant With Song
• Update: Your Weekly Dose of Spurgeon at Pyromaniacs: The Killing Effect of Socinian Doctrine

Have you posted a hymn (or sermon, sermon notes, prayer, etc.) today and I missed it? Let me know by leaving a link in the comments or by emailing me at the address in the sidebar and I’ll add your post to the list.

Saturday's Old Photo

This is my dad. He’s about 14 or 15—that would be 1940 or 41—and he’s with the first and only pig he ever owned. She was born on the farm in Kansas—one of a litter of little pigs that had to be bottle fed. He helped his mother raise the babes and in return he kept one of them as his own. He sold her—and her litter, I think—shortly after this photo was taken.

He made enough money, he says, to pay for her feed and that’s about it. That he only broke even may be the reason he went pigless for the rest of his life.

What he really loved were horses, anyway.

My Desktop Photo 70

Photo by Andrew Stark
(click on photo for larger view)

When I left Minnesota, a few of the maples were turning red. While I was in Vancouver, there were reddish maples, too. I expected to see everything in full color when I got home to Whitehorse, but I was surprised to find the trees still looking summerish. But they’re turning now and tempertures are cool. It must be fall.