Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Family Altar

The Family Altar.

The rich are poor or vainly stored     Without the Lord.O, give us, Lord, Thy grace to see     Our debt to Thee!When we are tempted, be Thou near     To guide and cheer;Yea, make our duty our delight     By day and night.Dear ones that wont to bend the knee,     Have gone to Thee,And left to us an empty chair,     And grief to bear.Friends come and go, they must depart;     But still Thou art;And as Thou art their Lord the same,     Our grief we tame,And hear Thee in the wind that waves     Their grass-green grave's.Proclaim the Resurrection life     The end of strife;And as the vict'ry Thou hast won     Thy will be done!While in this wilderness below,     Before we go,To guide, to comfort, and defend,     Thou heavenly Friend!And when the awful shore is passed     And safe at last,We shall, within the happy place,     Declare Thy grace.Then, then the song through heaven shall ring     None else can sing;While angels bending to the ground     Drink in the sound.O, hallowed be Thy Name on earth     Round every hearth!Though Thou art hidden in the skies     We're in Thine eyes;Thy "ever plenty-dropping hand"     Makes fat the land;And that our prayers ascend to Thee,     And answered be,Triumphed hast Thou o'er death and hell     And rent the veil;And made us priests and heirs to God     All by Thy blood.