The world can never give
The bliss for which we sigh;
’Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.

Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of years,
An endless life of love.

Farewell, dear friends, farewell,
For just a little while;
We’ll meet and sing on heaven’s shore,
Where parting comes no more.

Happy Fourth Sunday of Advent! Tonight is the longest night ever.

My Christian friends, in bonds of love,
Whose hearts in sweetest union join,
Your friendship’s like a drawing band,
Yet we must take the parting hand.
Your company’s sweet, your union dear,
Your words delightful to my ear;
Yet when I see that we must part
You draw like cords around my heart.

How sweet the hours have passed away
Since we have met to sing and pray;
How loath we are to leave the place
Where Jesus shows His smiling face.
Oh could I stay with friends so kind,
How would it cheer my drooping mind!
But duty makes me understand
That we must take the parting hand.

And since it is God’s holy will,
We must be parted for a while,
In sweet submission, all as one,
We’ll say, our Father’s will be done.
My youthful friends, in Christian ties,
Who seek for mansions in the skies,
Fight on, we’ll gain that happy shore,
Where parting will be known no more.

How oft I’ve seen your flowing tears,
And heard you tell your hopes and fears!
Your hearts with love were seen to flame,
Which makes me hope we’ll meet again.
Ye mourning souls, lift up your eyes
To glorious mansions in the skies;
Oh trust His grace — in Canaan’s land
We’ll no more take the parting hand.

And now, my friends, both old and young,
I hope in Christ you’ll still go on;
And if on earth we meet no more,
Oh may we meet on Canaan’s shore.
I hope you’ll all remember me
If on earth no more I see;
An int’rest in your prayers I crave,
That we meet beyond the grave.

Oh glorious day! Oh blessed hope!
My soul leaps forward at the thought
When, on that happy, happy land,
We’ll no more take the parting hand.
But with our blessed holy Lord
We’ll shout and sing with one accord,
And there we’ll all with Jesus dwell,
So, loving Christians, fare you well.

And a bonus:

What’s this that steals upon my frame?
Is it death, is it death?
That soon will quench this mortal flame,
Is it death, is it death?
If this be death, I soon shall be
From ev’ry pain and sorrow free.
I shall the King of glory see,
All is well, all is well.

Weep not, my friends, weep not for me,
All is well, all is well!
My sins forgiv’n and I am free,
All is well, all is well!
There’s not a cloud that doth arise,
To hide my Jesus from my eyes.
I soon shall mount the upper skies,
All is well, all is well.

Tune, tune your harps ye saints on high,
All is well, all is well!
I too will strike my harp with equal joy,
All is well, all is well!
Bright angels are from glory come,
They’re ’round my bed, they’re in my room,
They wait to waft my spirit home,
All is well, all is well.

Hark! Hark! my Lord and Master’s voice,
Calls away, calls away!
I soon shall see — enjoy my happy choice,
Why delay, why delay?
Farewell my friends, adieu, adieu,
I can no longer stay with you,
My glittering crown appears in view,
All is well, all is well!

When, marshaled on the nightly plain,
The glittering hosts bestud the sky,
One star alone of all the train
Can fix the sinner’s wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Savior speaks,
It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,
The storm was loud, the night was dark,
The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed
The wind that tossed my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose,
It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all;
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm and danger’s thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely, moored, my perils o’er
I’ll sing, first in night’s diadem,
Forever and forevermore,
The star! The Star of Bethlehem!

Not technically in the Sacred Harp, but it’s a Christmas-themed shape note carol. This recording is from a Christmas album by the Tudor Choir. Go buy it, it’s great!

The tune is usually set to lyrics by Robert Burns:

Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon
How ye can bloom so fresh and fair
How can ye chant ye little birds
And I sae weary fu’ o’ care

Ye’ll break my heart ye warbling birds
That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn
Ye mind me o’ departed joys
Departed never to return

Oft hae I rov’d by bonnie Doon
To see the rose and woodbine twine
And ilka bird sang o’ its love
And fondly sae did I o’ mine

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose
Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree
But my false lover stole my rose
But ah! She left the thorn wi’ me

How long, dear Savior, Oh how long
Shall this bright hour delay?
Fly swift around, ye wheels of time,
And bring the promised day.

From the third heaven, where God resides,
That holy, happy place,
The new Jerusalem comes down,
Adorned with shining grace.

Someone posted a version of this song from Seoul about a week ago.

And let this feeble body fail,
And let it faint or die;
My soul shall quit this mournful vale,
And soar to worlds on high,

And I’ll sing hallelujah,
And you’ll sing hallelujah,
And we’ll all sing hallelujah,
When we arrive at home.

Shall join the disembodied saints,
And find its long-sought rest,
The only bliss for which it pants,
In my Redeemer’s breast.

Oh what are all my suff’rings here,
If, Lord, Thou count me meet
With that enraptured host t’appear,
And worship at Thy feet.

Give joy or grief, give ease or pain,
Take life or friends away,
But let me find them all again,
In that eternal day.