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403.

P. M.

*Milman.

Funeral Hymn.
316

Brother, thou art gone before us,

And thy saintly soul is flown,

Where tears are wiped from every eye,

And sorrows are unknown;

From the burden of the flesh,

And from care and fear, released,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

Sin no more can taint thy spirit,

Nor can doubt thy faith assail;

Thy soul its welcome has received,

Thy strength shall never fail;

And thou’rt sure to meet the good,

Whom on earth thou lovedst best,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

To the grave thy body bearing,

Low we place it mid the dead;

And lay the turf above it now,

And seal its narrow bed;

But thy spirit soars away,

Free, among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling

And the weary are at rest.

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