The Sun Still Rises in the East, by Abigail Miller

The sun still rises in the East,
It sets still in the West;
But, we are now bowed in grief,
For you've gone on to rest.

What music from God's hall heard you,
What bade you leave this world,
And slip up through the starry blue
By the path of your own tomb?

'Twas not the reaper's cruel scythe,
No claw on death's grim hand,
But a call to God, to peace of life,
A voice across the strand;

Through heavens gate you dance with mirth,
And through a glowing hall,
On splendor never seen on earth,
You gazed in joy and awe.

And, there you heard the angels' harps,
And there the saints did sing;
And, there above all sparkling stars

You knelt before the King.

And, there the glad hosannas rang,

Rejoicing 'round the throne;
Loud songs of praise the cherubs sang,

For a child of God come home.

The sun still rises in the East.
It sets still in the West,
But you've gone on to heavens feast

To live with God at rest.

And, though we're left to weep a day,

And mourn in this world of men
Heaven rings with your shouts of joy,

And we shall meet again.

And, there you heard the angels' harps,
And there the saints did sing;
And, there above all sparkling stars

You knelt before the King.

And, there the glad hosannas rang,

Rejoicing 'round the throne;
Loud songs of praise the cherubs sang,

For a child of God come home.

And, there the glad hosannas rang,

Rejoicing 'round the throne;
Loud songs of praise the cherubs sang,

For a child of God come home.