The dying robber raised his aching brow
To claim the dying Lord for company;
And heard, in answer to his trembling bow,
The promise of the King: Thou—even thou—
Today shalt be in Paradise with me.

We, too, the measure of our guilt confess,
Knowing Thy mercy, Lord, our only plea;
That we, like him, through judgment and distress,
For all the weight of our unworthiness
May win our way to Paradise with Thee.

But so bewildered is our failing heart,
So dim the luster of Thy royalty,
We hardly know Thee, Lord, for what Thou art,
Till we begin to take the better part
And lose ourselves in Paradise with Thee.

Then lift our eyes, dear Lord, from this poor dross,
To see Thee reigning in humility,
The King of love; that, wresting gain from loss,
We, too, may climb the ladder of the cross,
To find our home in Paradise with Thee.

Father of spirits, whose divine control
Doth bind the soul and body into one;
Thou wilt restore this body now undone;
For once it was the mansion of a soul,
Where dwelt the glowing wisdom of Thy Son.

Thou, Maker of the body, dost ordain
That this Thine image, molded by Thy will,
Our every hope in glory shall fulfill;
So, till the body Thou dost build again,
Thou wilt preserve the spirit freed from ill.

In that blest region shall this spirit dwell
Where flowers undying bloom on every side:
For lo, we trust Thy Word, O Crucified,
When in Thy triumph over death and hell,
The thief forgiven took Thee for his Guide.

Our brother goeth by the shining way,
That ever to the faithful open lies:
Lord, train Thy servant now in Paradise,
And bless him in his fatherland, we pray,
Till Thou shalt bid his body to arise.

Our sister goeth by the shining way,
That ever to the faithful open lies:
Lord, train Thy servant now in Paradise,
And bless her in her fatherland, we pray,
Till Thou shalt bid her body to arise.

The hand that was nailed to the cross of woe,
In love reaches out to the world below;
’Tis beckoning now to the souls that roam,
And pointing the way to the heav’nly home.

Refrain

The hand of my Savior I see,
The hand that was wounded for me;
’Twill lead me in love to the mansions above,
The hand that was wounded for me!

E’en now I can see, through a mist of tears,
That hand still outstretched o’er the gulf of years,
With healing and hope for my sin sick soul,
One touch of its finger will make me whole!

Refrain

The hand that wrought wonders in days of old,
Holds treasure more precious than gems or gold,
The price of redemption from sin and shame,
The gift of salvation through Jesus’ Name.

Refrain

It is finished! Blessèd Jesus,
Thou hast breathed Thy latest sigh,
Teaching us the sons of Adam
How the Son of God can die.

Lifeless lies the broken body,
Hidden in its rocky bed,
Laid aside like folded garment:
Where is now the Spirit fled?

In the gloomy realms of darkness
Shines a light unknown before,
For the Lord of dead and living
Enters at the open door.

See! He comes, a willing Victim,
Unresisting hither led;
Passing from the cross of sorrow
To the mansions of the dead.

Lo! the heavenly light around Him
Ad He draws His people near;
All amazed they stand rejoicing
At the gracious words they hear.

For Himself proclaims the story
Of His own incarnate life,
And the death He died to save us,
Victor in that awful strife.

Patriarch and priest and prophet
Gather round Him as He stands,
In adoring faith and gladness,
Hearing of the piercèd hands.

Oh, the bliss to which He calls them,
Ransomed by His precious blood,
From the gloomy realms of darkness
To the paradise of God!

There in lowliest joy and wonder
Stands the robber at His side,
Reaping now the blessèd promise
Spoken by the Crucified.

Jesus, Lord of dead and living,
Let Thy mercy rest on me;
Grant me, too, when life is finished,
Rest in paradise with Thee.

The saints of God! their conflict past,
And life’s long battle won at last,
No more they need the shield or sword,
They cast them down before their Lord:
O happy saints! forever blest,
At Jesus feet’ how safe your rest!

The saints of God! their wand’rings done,
No more their weary course they run,
No more they faint, no more they fall,
No foes oppress, no fears appall:
O happy saints! forever blest,
In that dear home how sweet your rest!

The saints of God! life’s voyage o’er,
Safe landed on that blissful shore,
No stormy tempests now they dread,
No roaring billows lift their head:
O happy saints! forever blest,
In that calm haven of your rest!

The saints of God their vigil keep,
While yet their mortal bodies sleep,
Till from the dust they too shall rise
And soar triumphant to the skies:
O happy saints! rejoice and sing:
He quickly comes, your Lord and King!

O God of saints! to Thee we cry;
O Savior! plead for us on high;
O Holy Ghost! our Guide and Friend,
Grant us Thy grace till life shall end;
That with all the saints our rest may be
In that bright paradise with Thee!